


I Shall Weather The Storm

by TokuTenshi



Series: Though the Darkness Comes Upon Me [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Circle of Magi, Circle of Magi Culture and Customs, F/M, Friends to Lovers, I promise, Mutual Attraction, Post Game, Slow Burn, The Gallows, dragon age 2 - post game, for real this time, mutual idiots, the story continues, there will be payoff, they're trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-11-04 09:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 90,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10988484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TokuTenshi/pseuds/TokuTenshi
Summary: **Direct continuation of “I Shall Embrace the Light”**The Chantry destroyed, the Gallows annulled, and Kirkwall becomes the most talked about city in all the Free Marches. Rumors and romanticized tales of what happened spread across Southern Thedas, but few know what truly occurred. As the outside world's imagination runs away with itself, the devastated city-state does its best to recover. There are changes in leadership, changes in purpose, and Ebrisa Trevelyan can only hope that the changes she makes in herself do not further sully the name of Kirkwall as all eyes seem to turn upon them.Post DA2 game all the way up to 9:40 Dragon





	1. Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back, sweetlings! Let's get back to it, shall we?

There was a good stretch of time between being flung from Meredith's sword and losing consciousness, but Ebrisa hadn't used any of it or the small amount of mana she still had to heal herself. As soon as she did slip into the Fade, her spirit companions began talking all at once. They begged to know why she had just laid there, why she didn't do a single thing, but she gave no answer.

Mother paced around the study in her spirit form, agitated and running her hands through the flame-like tresses floating around her. She muttered to herself, voice undecipherable as her indigo form began to flare up with reds and yellows. Sympathy and Belief spared her a solemn glance before directing their attention back to the mage.

“Child, we are here. If you but give us permission, we can mend your wounds for you.” Sympathy smiled encouragingly. “All you need to do is say _yes_ , and it is done.”

“To what end?” Ebrisa mumbled, breaking her silence.

“To save your life, of course!” Belief huffed, baffled by the response. “Without consent, our interference would turn you into an abomination. Just say _yes_.”

“I won't.” The mage turned her focus to the fireplace and wondered what would happen to the fortress when she was gone. Would it crumble away, or was this to be her home in death as it had been in dream? “I have no purpose, no reason to remain. I am unneeded and pointless.”

The room emptied, the flames in the fireplace died out, and the light dwindled away. In the silence of her solitude, a honeyed voice cut through the darkness.

“Are you so sure about that?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Ebrisa stirred awake with a noise that sounded more like a creak than a groan. She blinked against the brightness of the room and slowly sat up with a searing pain, the thin blanket that had been covering her slipping to gather in her lap. She recognized the room as the Gallows infirmary, though the shelves were empty and the cabinets seemed ransacked, and she appeared to be the only patient there.

The cots were usually bare to make for easier cleaning, but hers was padded with folded blankets in an effort to make her stay comfortable. Ebrisa swung her feet over the side, realizing only from the sight of her bare legs that she wasn't dressed. She scrambled to cover herself with the bunched fabric in her lap, but as her fingers brushed across her torso she finally noticed the wrappings. Nearly her entire abdomen was hidden beneath layers of linen strips and she remembered everything.

Meredith. The Circle. The sensation of warmth slowly slipping away. Ebrisa dropped her hands, no longer caring that she was only in her small clothes. “How am I alive?”

The door opened and a Tranquil walked in, not pausing a moment to give the woman a chance for modesty. “How timely,” Ella commented as she crossed the room with a small basket. “I was to change your dressing. It will be much more efficient with you sitting up, Enchanter Ebrisa.”

“Are there no others you need to attend to first?” Ebrisa glanced down at the red blotches peaking out across the white fabric.

“No, you are the last.” Ella set the basket on the bed and began to unwrap the mage. “Those who were injured from the battle have since recovered or perished.”

Ebrisa remained silent as the teen stripped away the layers, exposing more and more stains. When Ella peeled back the large swatch of padding from Ebrisa's stomach, the scent of herbs and almonds hit the air and the mage looked down to examine her own wound.

“It's infected...” she mumbled, staring at the red skin and yellow tissue that ran nearly from her ribs to her hip and feeling a chill run up her spine.

“We did not know what to do,” Ella explained while she removed the padding from the larger, entrance wound on Ebrisa's back. “Solivitus and Senior Enchanter Bernice did not involve us in the final steps of most poultice or salve making or explain what the components we readied were for. The more experienced herbalists were slain in the crossfire of the annulment, so we did what we could for you.”

Ebrisa watched as Ella prepared to pour something onto clean padding and held out a hand to stop her. “May I?” Ella nodded, handing over the flask, and patiently waited as Ebrisa inspected its contents. “Spindleweed, elfroot, embrium... I believe this is a rock armor potion.”

If Tranquil could feel embarrassed, Ella surely would have done so. “I see. The store rooms became rather disorganized over these past three days.” Having nothing else on hand, Ella dressed the wounds dry. She gathered up the soiled cloth and deposited it in a hamper by the door, returning with another flask. “We were instructed to have you drink this upon your waking.”

“I don't suppose that's an elixir of heroism,” Ebrisa mumbled in an attempt at humor – humor that was lost on the Tranquil.

“It is a healing tonic. The last in the Gallows, I believe.”

Ella pressed the glass into the mage's hands and turned away to fetch something from the cabinets. “Its nearly full... surely others could have used at least a little while I slept.”

“Yes,” Ella replied, walking back with a clean shift and basic robes, “but this potion was for you. Knight-Captain Cullen was very adamant.”

Ebrisa tried to not get her hopes up. “Because none of the Tranquil know how to make it. If I survive using the last healing tonic, it ensures there will be more in the future.”

Ella set the clothing on the edge of the cot. “That makes the most sense.”

“Yes,” Ebrisa mumbled, popping the cork. “It really does.” She downed the liquid as instructed, feeling the concoction begin its fight against the infected wound and wondering if Cullen knew she wasn't going to use her magic to heal herself.

“Do you require assistance dressing?” Ella asked, still standing nearby. Knowing that – even with a healing potion coursing through her – overexerting her core muscles with unnecessary stretches might tear open the mending flesh, Ebrisa took the offered help. Being modest once again in loose fitting robes that didn't constrict around her injuries, the mage made for the door as Ella stripped the bloodstained cot.

Samson was waiting just outside the infirmary, obviously surprised to see the mage walk out instead of the Tranquil who'd walked in. “About time you got up,” he sighed while pushing away from the wall. “Don't think I could stand any more of the ruckus he's been causing. His concern was sort of sweet at first, but now its just plain irritating.”

She swallowed down the rising hope, squashing it before it even really began to take root. “Who are you talking about?”

The templar waved her to follow him, glad to be away from the sentry posting. “He's completely inconsolable – and very snappy. Don't know how you've put up with him all these years.”

They walked the short distance to the Templar Hall, Ebrisa actively pushing down her thoughts with each step. Samson likely meant Sebastian or Carver, and for the first time Ebrisa felt guilty for the dark thoughts that made her give up. Just because she couldn't be loved in the way she wanted, didn't mean she was devoid of friends who cared deeply for her. She was not alone, even if she couldn't be with the one person she wanted.

Samson stopped suddenly when they entered the hall, the distracted Ebrisa smacking into him and stumbling back a step. He looked at her from over his shoulder, laughing just a little. “Still asleep?”

Before she could reply, a screech cut through the air and Ebrisa suddenly understood who the templar was talking about. “Leopold?” The wyvern lifted his head at the sound of his name and turned to the voice. His eyes narrowed in confusion at the change in the mage's scent, but as she stepped out from behind the templar and moved closer, the doubt left the wyvern and he bounded over to her excitedly.

Leopold knocked her flat, aggravating her injury and causing her to yelp in pain. He quickly pulled back and looked around for the cause of her discomfort, growling menacingly at the unseen culprit. “No, no, it's alright,” Ebrisa grunted, waving a hand in the air blindly. Leopold lowered his head so it was within reach and the mage gently stroked his snout as she pushed away the swimming sensation in her head. “I'm alright, Leopold.”

He opened his maw and nipped lightly at the mage's hand until she wrapped her fingers around a large tooth. Leopold returned to his full height, pulling Ebrisa to her feet with the same swift motion. He shook her hand loose and nuzzled her back, nudging her closer and making a very un-fearsome whine.

She draped her arms around his thick neck in a hug, running a soothing hand up and down his scales. “I'm alright, Leopold. I promise.”

Samson snorted, destroying the sweetness of the scene. “Koller was right. Strangest thing I've ever seen.” He folded his arms and motioned his head in the direction of the offices. “When you're done with that, the knight-captain needs to see you.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The first day was spent gathering their dead from the city, mage and templar both. The second day was spent identifying everyone they could and taking role of the survivors to narrow down the names of those they could not. Here, on the third day, Cullen had begun the daunting task of writing to the families of his fallen brothers and sisters. Varric had made the suggestion of using printing blocks to create a base letter that could then have the details filled in by hand, but Cullen dismissed it. Each templar who died in that chaotic battle was a subordinate he had failed, a colleague he had abandoned, because he could not see the madness and hatred that had consumed Meredith until it was far too late. He owed the fallen much, and suffering through bouts of hand cramps was really the least he could do.

Cullen took a small break after signing his name for the thirtieth time that day to rub at his left wrist. He'd taken off his gauntlets before sitting down at Meredith's desk and the cool air against his exposed skin was initially welcomed, but now that the wound could breath it demanded more attention and itched constantly.

Cullen had thought nothing of the lingering consequences of offering his own blood to save Ebrisa and thrust his wrist at Merrill the moment he was done speaking with the spirit. The elf cut deeply into his flesh, slicing through veins and gaining access to the power she needed to save the other mage and when she was done Cullen had been too light-headed to even wrap the cut himself. He refused to take any potion, wanting to ensure it would be there for Ebrisa when she awoke, and relied on Sebastian to bind the wound and carry the woman to the infirmary. Cullen left instructions and posted a guard at the door, he did what he could to ensure she was comfortable, but he did not have the luxury of waiting by Ebrisa's side.

Meredith and Orsino had left a mess, and there was so very much to do.

A hesitant knock at the door broke Cullen from his musings and he straightened in the chair, folding the now dry letter. “Yes, enter.” He stuffed the letter into the already addressed envelope and held it closed, pouring a small amount of sealing wax over the flap as he heard the door open and shut before pressing the seal of the Templar Order into the red blob.

“You wanted to see me?”

Cullen shot up to his feet at the quiet voice, bumping the desk and making the small melting pot wobble dangerously, but he couldn't have cared less if the wax spilled or the flame set the desk ablaze, because Ebrisa was there. Her hair was an absolute mess and her eyes tired, testaments to her unresponsive days, but her skin had regained its normal color and her lips their alluring shade of pink. Even with the unflattering robes and disheveled appearance, Ebrisa was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen and Cullen wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and kiss her. “Desperately.” It wasn't until the woman looked away that Cullen realized he'd spoken out loud.

“Yes,” Ebrisa began awkwardly, motioning in the direction she'd just come from. “Ser Samson mentioned how disruptive Leopold has been.”

He cleared his throat and rounded the desk, taking the out he'd been given. “That is certainly true. When you didn't show up on Sunday, I suppose he got anxious. Caused quite a stir when he scaled the tallest building in Hightown just so he could glide down here. Makes me think wyverns can't swim.”

Ebrisa brought a hand to her cheek and looked down, pursing her lips and squinting slightly in thought. “They're common around wetlands and lakes, so they must have some skill in the water. Perhaps ocean currents are too strong or Leopold was never allowed to learn under Duke Prosper's care?”

She hummed, furrowing her brow and really pondering about Cullen's offhanded comment. Maker, but she was adorable when she focused like that. Cullen felt the smile spread across his face as he watched her, ignoring the insistent itch in his wrist and knowing he had made the right decision that night. As much as he wanted to simply stand there and stare at the woman before him, Cullen did have work to do.

“I'm glad you're alright,” he finally said, interrupting the mage's mental recounting of wyvern lore. “Wait, you _are_ alright now, aren't you?” He took a half-step forward. “There was a tonic. Did you get it?”

“Yes, Knight-Captain, I got it.” She gave a small smile at his concern before dropping it in concern of her own. “I also got inappropriate potions in my dressing that may have done more harm than good. Serrah Ella said we no longer have capable Tranquil herbalists and with supplies depleted as they are, it would take me some time to restore what is needed by myself.”

“It will take some time to restore much,” Cullen sighed. He glanced back at the pile of correspondence on the desk, knowing it was only a matter of time before the rumors that shot out of Kirkwall regarding the Chantry's destruction came flooding back with questions.

“Permission to instruct Tranquil beyond the basics?”

He turned back to the woman, slightly confused. “You... what?”

“I would like to train some of the Tranquil in how to read and follow recipes from start to end. Remind them of what Bernice surely taught them years ago in regards to which herbs do what. Perhaps even explain the non-magical healing arts beyond dressing wounds.” Ebrisa rubbed at her forehead. “I know there's much that needs to be done and that our home has suffered a lot, but this is all I can think of to help it recover.”

Cullen nodded slowly. “That would be helpful. Besides the fact that you can not be everywhere at once, if we relied on you for every gash and break we'd run you ragged.” He folded his arms, knowing that Kirkwall would need as many healing hands as it could get. “But why are you asking permission from me?”

Ebrisa shifted uneasily, lowering her gaze. “Well, shouldn't I? You're the highest authority in the Gallows.”

“For now,” Cullen mumbled. “Just because I relieved Meredith of command does not mean I am to inherit her title. Normally, the grand cleric would name the successor, but...” He sighed heavily and rubbed at his neck. “I had almost forgotten to send in an official report to the knight-vigilant. This lapse will not reflect well on my chances to remain here.”

The woman moved closer, confusion evident. “You think someone else might be appointed? As Meredith's second, are you not the obvious choice?”

“Perhaps, if I had been a competent second.” He shook his head, dispelling the possibility of being reprimanded or removed from the Order. “But until that decision is made, I will do my best for the Gallows and for Kirkwall.”

“Your best has always been more than enough,” Ebrisa said with a smile, reaching out and taking a light hold of his hand with both her own, fingertips barely brushing the wrappings around his wrist as though she knew what lay beneath them. “If the knight-vigilant fails to see that, than surely the Order has taken to promoting blind men.”

Cullen chuckled, not bothering to mask his adoring expression as he met the woman's eyes. “I really am glad you're alright.”

Her eyes widened just a little and her cheeks gained a rosy color, but Ebrisa didn't look away. Instead, she gave him a warm smile that lit up her eyes. “I'm really glad you're alright, too.”

She was standing so close to him that he could feel every puff of her breath on his skin and suddenly his hands itched for an entirely different reason. He wanted to touch her, wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and hold her against him, wanted to cup her face and trace patterns across her cheeks, wanted to bury his fingers in her tangled hair and plant soft kisses on her temple.

“Ebrisa, I...” Cullen's voice trailed off, not able to find the right words to convey what he wanted – what he _needed_ – to say. He loved her, and he was never more certain of anything in his life. He loved her, but could he handle the rejection if she didn't feel the same way? Not right now, not with so many things needing his attention. “I... I should really write that report before I forget again.”

She dropped his hand as though it burned and her smile twisted just a little higher, just a little unnatural. “I don't think a recommendation from me will go very far, but you have my support.” Ebrisa stepped back, reaching for the door handle. “I-I'll start making preparations in the crafting lab to train the Tranquil. Oh, but Serrah Ella did say the storerooms were a mess. I ought to organize those first so I have a better idea of what we need. I... I'll just...” She found the latch and pulled open the door, stepping out of the office. “Thank you for your time, Knight-Captain.”

Cullen waited until the door was closed, then returned to the chair and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment.

_Knight-Vigilant Trentwatch-_

_It is my deepest regret to inform you..._

“My deepest regret...” Cullen mumbled, staring at the door for several long minutes before sighing heavily and continuing on with his report.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Ebrisa spent the rest of the day moving from storeroom to storeroom cleaning, organizing, and documenting what was there. She made sure each flask was clearly marked, as there was no longer staff to man the inventory and to prevent further cases of mistaken identity. Thankfully, their supply of lyrium potion was in no immediate danger, as that was the one thing Ebrisa could not replicate.

It was strange to not hear the Chantry toll the hour, but from the darkening sky Ebrisa could guess supper was going to be soon. She adjusted the ledgers in her arms, hoping to consolidate them into a master list that night, and headed across the entry yard towards the main hall.

The yard filled with chatter as the templars that were working to clear rubble in the city made their way back from the docks. Ebrisa turned to watch, noting how very tired they all looked and wondering if it might be better for them to not perform that particular task in full armor. In the sea of grays and reds, white and gold stood out and Ebrisa called to Sebastian before she realized it.

He stilled, forcing those walking behind him to move around the prince until he hurried out of line and up to the mage. “Look at you, up and on your feet once again!”

“Yes,” Carver chuckled as he walked up beside the archer. “Just look at that rat's nest adorning her head.”

Ebrisa reached a hand back to her hair, feeling the tangled mess for the first time and blushing madly. “Why did no one say anything? I've been walking around like this all day!”

“If you can panic about your hair, then you must be feeling better.” Carver ruffled her knotted curls further until she swatted his hand away. “What? It's not like it can look any worse.”

“There's time yet before supper,” Sebastian suggested, doing an admirable job of keeping his own chuckling at bay. “You may get a handle on your tresses by then.”

“Actually, I was going to the chapel for service. If today is Tuesday, than it should be Sister Selby's turn...” Ebrisa dropped her voice, squeezing the ledgers to her chest. “Right...” There would be no sister coming for service that night. There would be no sisters for a very long time. “I'm sorry, my lord Sebastian. I... I wasn't thinking. Do you know who...? Did everyone...?”

The archer sighed heavily, trying his best to not dwell in grief. “Not everyone was in the Chantry, no. A group was working a kitchen in Lowtown and a few chanters were scattered around the city. Our numbers could rival that of a small village's Chantry, but there is only one surviving mother.”

“I'm sorry,” Ebrisa repeated. “I didn't mean to... I...”

“I know,” Sebastian murmured, draping an arm around the woman and squeezing her shoulder in a brief hug. “We have our work cut out for us, as do you.” He pulled away and motioned to her hair. “Now go take care of that while I convince Ser Carver to wash up as well.”

The templar protested the slight, but after working in the sun all day, even he couldn't deny he was at least a little dirty. Ebrisa walked through the empty Mage Hall to her quarters, the shuffling of her slippers against the stone echoing loudly in her ears. No one had bothered to light any of the torches on the wall, because no one else would be in this section of the Gallows. The Tranquil had a lower wing all to themselves, and Ebrisa would have every other floor.

She set down the ledgers on her desk and began to comb out her hair, trying to get over the uneasy feeling her isolation was causing. By the time the last of the sun vanished from the sky, Ebrisa's hair was free of knots, but frizzy beyond redemption. She pulled it into a tight bun and changed into one of her own robes, forgoing the corset for comfort's sake. The journey out of the hall was much faster, Ebrisa nearly running though the corridors until she saw another person walking around.

The dining hall felt too large and the cooks had made too much food, still trying to adjust to the fewer portions they needed to prepare. Ebrisa stood awkwardly with her tray as she scanned the room, needing some sort of companionship after being shut in her hollow quarters for so long. Sebastian caught her pained expression and waved her over, scooting on the bench to make room for the mage at the table.

“You're looking better,” Carver said with a smirk from across the table.

Ebrisa released a short, awkward laugh. “As are you.”

Carver shot Sebastian an annoyed look. “He wanted me to clean under my nails. I was wearing gloves all day. _Why_ would I need to clean under my nails?”

“Perhaps because its obviously been a season since you've done it?” Sebastian answered for her, no hint of amusement in his voice.

“Oh, _buuuurn!_ ” Marian shoved Carver, then turned to Sebastian and held a palm in the air. “Nice one! Up top!”

The archer raised a brow, looking between the hand and its owner. “That's not necessary.”

The woman deflated, hand slowly lowering. “Yes it is...”

Garret snickered at her side around a mouthful of bread. “You got royally left hanging.”

“I'm about to shove that royally down your throat,” she snapped, snatching the others hand and forcing the bread in it towards his mouth, bending the man back until the two of them fell off the bench. Carver groaned and held his head in his hand, muttering to himself.

Sebastian slowly turned back to Ebrisa, tired smile in place. “Perhaps you would like to find somewhere else to sit? Those two are... those two.”

She shook her head and began eating, not realizing until that moment how very hungry she was. As the meal wore on and Ebrisa sheepishly got a second helping for the first time in her entire life, a question wormed its way into her thoughts. “Not that I don't enjoy the company, but what are you doing at the Gallows so late, my lord?”

“Ah, well, many people were displaced after the... destruction,” Sebastian began. “ _The Hanged Man_ suffered quite a bit of damage and Fenris' mansion – which was in a dire state to begin with – no longer seemed structurally sound, so Hawke offered her home to us. It was kind of her, but with Varric, Isabela, Fenris, Merrill, and myself there, even that estate felt cramped.”

“Haren Merrill's home was destroyed as well?” Ebrisa frowned in concern, wondering how the alienage had suffered.

“No,” Carver chuckled. “She just found out everyone else was staying with Dee and felt left out of the fun, apparently.”

Sebastian nodded. “Since I've been helping the templars with their duties looking for survivors, Knight-Captain Cullen offered me space in the barracks.”

A smile tugged at the mage's lips at the thought of Cullen being so kind and hospitable to one of her friends, but she quickly straightened. “What of the other clergy? Have they found accommodations?”

“Aye, that they have.” Sebastian nodded once again. “The Harimann's have taken them in. Flora extended the offer to me as well, but even after all this time, I can't seem to bring myself to forgive what her family did to mine.” He sighed and leaned back a little. “Still, it shows their promise to support my claim to the throne wasn't idle talk, I suppose.”

Ebrisa smiled, tapping her fork against her tray. “Well, of all the changes in the Gallows, having you here is certainly one of the more favorable.”

 


	2. Reinforcements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, because I had so much going on Wednesday, I forgot to mention this.  
> There will be a lot of time jumps in this piece, but I will do my best to not let you all get lost.

Days came and went and the progress in the city was slow going. The templars were too few and inexperienced with this type of labor to work effectively and often times a group would spend an entire day clearing one spot and still need to return the next morning. Before Cullen could even think to ask other Circles for aid, Starkhaven sent word that half of their initiates and affirmed templars as well as a third of their garrison was already on their way. The barracks were condensed to make room for the soon to be arriving soldiers and Cullen was immensely grateful that they would be under the command of their own knight-captain.

During Ebrisa's effort to recruit Tranquil for her lessons, she realized how many had become displaced from their responsibilities no longer requiring the same numbers. While the researchers – with the exception of Maddox and a few others that now focused on examining the remains of Meredith's red lyrium sword - continued on with their previous subjects of study as though nothing changed, the librarians shuffled around the silent shelves of books, the porters kept the empty halls clean, and the kitchen staff tried to adjust the recipes they had been making for years to produce smaller yields. Because of this, Ebrisa brought more than just the Tranquil previously stationed under Solivitus, Bernice, and Oswall on board.

She started with the basics of what was most needed and easiest to administer – health tonics. Many lay injured within the city and if they could send Starkhaven's templars with a few crates of potion on their first day, it would do much to restore people's faith in the Order. Their faith in mages would take much longer to restore, if it were even possible at all.

 

The sight of a force marching on the city was initially terrifying, but as soon as the emblem of the Templar Order came into view the citizen's terror turned to apprehension. Cullen had, of course, shared the news of their intent with Aveline and Hawke – who had somehow become viscountess without ever her noticing – but no amount of warning could have fully prepared the city.

The templars continued straight on to the docks and began ferrying across in groups, their knight-captain on the first ship out. Cullen and a few of the knight-lieutenants stood waiting in the entry yard, trying to not look as desperately grateful for the aid as they felt.

“Knight-Captain Rylen,” a man with tattoos on his chin and one side of his nose introduced in the accent that would be filling the halls soon enough. He saluted firmly, despite being so obviously worn out from the journey. “Expecting us, I see. Good to know missives still work here.”

“Welcome, brother.” Cullen returned the salute, hearing only some of the men behind him do the same. “I am Knight-Captain Cullen, acting commander. These are Knight-Lieutenants Barclay, Tyne, and Karras.”

Rylen nodded and motioned behind himself. “These are, well, it'll be easier to just give you the roster later.”

Cullen smirked at that. “Yes, I did not think you'd want to waste the remaining daylight recounting names.” He beckoned with his hand and took a step to the side. “I'll show you where you can set up. Barclay and the others will direct your men to the barracks as they arrive.”

The captains moved away towards the Templar Hall, trusting that their subordinates would get along without them. They discussed their service records and experience, Cullen glad to hear the Starkhaven man came from a family of stonemasons and knowing the skills would come in handy with removing rubble. It was technically the opposite of placing stone, but Rylen would have a keen eye for structural integrity and be able to direct which chunk of brickwork should be moved first to prevent the entire pile falling in on itself. Kirkwall's templars had barely escaped several such collapses.

“This was the first enchanter's office,” Cullen explained as he unlocked the door. He pushed it open, exposing a frozen moment in time – paperwork on the desk half-finished, ink bottle open and dried out, and chair upturned. This was where the argument had started, and Cullen didn't even know what it had been about. He'd already been in the city on unrelated business when Meredith and Orsino had their final shouting match.

Rylen gave him a curious look as he entered the room. “No first enchanter? One hasn't been chosen from the survivors yet?”

“Survivor,” Cullen corrected. “Only one mage escaped the annulment, though not for her lack of trying.”

“That comment's going to require some explanation,” Rylen dryly prodded, hands busy clearing the desk of pointless papers and magic texts.

The Fereldan grimaced slightly, wishing he hadn't added that last part. “Enchanter Ebrisa submitted to the knight-commander during the annulment. Twice. She said it was Meredith's right. She said it was _fine_.” She always seemed to say the word in the wrong situations, and he was beginning to hate her usage of it.

“That name sounds familiar...” Rylen mumbled, shoving the books into random empty spots on the shelves. “Was she one of ours? Maker, it feels like so long since that blasted fire, I can barely remember actually watching over mages.”

“Yes, actually.” Cullen leaned back against the door frame, calling up his first time meeting Ebrisa that early morning many years ago. So young, but so firm in her belief of right and wrong. So weary, but so intent on following procedure. “When the others turned on their escort, she grabbed the two children and ran off. Found her way here and reported in.”

Rylen hummed in thought, correcting the chair and folding his arms over the back. “Ebrisa... is she... blonde? Meek little thing?”

He would no longer call her meek, but Cullen nodded.

“Well how do you like that? She's the last one I would have pegged to survive an annulment.” Rylen straightened back up and shrugged one shoulder. “First Enchanter Raddick had lots of extra restrictions on her, so we just assumed she was dangerous. I was in her guard rotation for a while, but never saw anything that justified it.”

Knowing what he did about Ebrisa's family, Cullen could guess what Raddick's true reason had been. Several nobles had tried to buy special treatment for their mage children, but Meredith always turned them down flat. It was more than likely that Lady Trevelyan had bought secrecy to hide her daughter in Starkhaven, and Cullen felt a bite of anger at the notion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Two crates of lesser healing tonic and one batch of more potent potion rested on the central table in the lab, waiting to be distributed to those in need the very next day. Teaching the Tranquil had initially seemed so daunting, but now Ebrisa was overjoyed with what the group had accomplished in such a short time. She felt like a true enchanter, and not a mere assistant.

After putting out the last of the burners and moving the chalkboard flush against the wall, Ebrisa extinguished the lamps and left the lab. It was already dark outside and she knew supper had started, but that was alright. Starkhaven's templars had arrived earlier that day and there was a chance she'd only get scraps, but Ebrisa didn't mind. She felt useful, she felt like she had a purpose, and that was worth missing a few meals.

The dining hall quietened just a little as she entered, but Ebrisa barely noticed and crossed the room to the food line like any other meal. Luckily, there was enough food left to fill her tray and Ebrisa turned around to find a seat, finally seeing just how much fuller the hall was. It was still nowhere near the same capacity it had been months ago, but it was definitely rowdier.

“Oy, Bevan!” A voice cut through the chatter. “This man says he's Sebastian Vael!”

“What?” A balding man stood up from his seat and squinted across the room for a moment. He waved his hand dismissively and shook his head. “He's a chancer, you eejit. Whatever you do, don't give him any money.”

Ebrisa could barely make out Sebastian's calm response from the ocean of rolling burrs as she found a mostly empty table and sat down. She ate quickly, eager to work on lesson plans and wondering when it would be alright to take a break from herbalism to explore treating sprains and setting bones. All that time she had spent trying to further her own knowledge, and now she could share it.

 

“That took a lot longer than I thought it would,” Rylen sighed, rubbing at an eye. They'd spent hours going over maps of the city with Cullen pointing out and explaining what information surveyors had given him about the destruction. There were about a dozen locations where people were still trapped and a team had been going around slipping them what food and water they could safely get through the gaps in the rocks.

“I thought it best that you understand what you are walking into tomorrow,” Cullen offered in way of apology. “I assure you, if there's nothing left in the food line, a staffer will get you something hot from the kitchens.”

They turned into the dining hall, despite Cullen rarely taking meals in there any more, and the Fereldan came to a sudden stop. Ebrisa walked towards them – towards the door, really – with a bright smile in place and her thoughts elsewhere as she stared past the roll in her hands. Cullen hadn't spoken to her, hadn't seen her, since she first awoke for no other reason than he had been so unbearably consumed with work. She was beaming, radiating happiness, and Cullen could hear his own breath hitch, even through the insistent chatter of the room. If he was going to be taken aback by the woman's beauty every time he saw her smile, then Cullen was going to have a very difficult time doing much of anything.

“Is _that_ Ebrisa?” Rylen whispered, a little baffled.

Cullen broke his eyes away, realizing he had been staring. “It is.”

“You never said she filled out.” Rylen still sounded confused.

“I – um,” Cullen mumbled, trying to keep his face from heating at the fact or his anger from rising at the comment. “It didn't seem relevant. What did you think would happen in six years?”

Rylen shrugged, shaking his head a little. “I don't know. She was still more or less a wain in my mind until a second ago.”

It was then that Ebrisa seemed to notice them and she locked eyes with Cullen first. “Knight-Captain.” Her lips curved just a bit higher after addressing him, Cullen was almost certain of it. She looked to the man at his side and paused only a moment. “Ser Rylen! I was uncertain if I would see any familiar faces amongst Starkhaven's troops.”

“Got me right away,” Rylen almost chuckled.

Ebrisa tilted her head back and forth. “Well, I haven't met many templars with tattoos on their face.”

Rylen rubbed at his chin, as if trying to feel the ink in his skin. “Some of us had more impetuous youths than others.” He checked the mage up and down briefly. “Sea air seems to agree with you. Certainly look a lot happier than when you were landlocked.”

She laughed lightly into her roll, sneaking a glance at Cullen that made him straighten. “The Knight-Captain is letting me train the Tranquil and they've been doing so well. Whenever one of them finally gets something right that they had been struggling with, I get so elated. It's exciting watching them broaden their skills and today we managed to finish up a few batches of tonics. I don't think I've ever felt so proud.”

“For training Tranquil?” Rylen cocked a brow. “No offense, but it doesn't sound very difficult.”

“I'm not proud of _me_ ,” Ebrisa huffed. “I'm proud of _them_. They can't feel frustrated when something goes wrong or delighted when something goes right. They can't get excited about learning something new or anxious the first time its put into practice. They can't, but I can. I want them to know how much I appreciate their efforts and their help.”

Most barely gave the Tranquil a second thought, as though losing their connection with the Fade had made the once-mages less than a person. They could not feel, but they could recognize basic emotions in others and what they meant. Cullen could clearly see Ebrisa exaggerating her expressions during class just so the vacant-faced trainees could understand her better. The fact that she did it knowing none of them would ever crack a smile made it somehow sad. Always giving. Did she never expect to get anything in return?

“Well, if the tonics are for us to bring into the city, then do whatever works.” Rylen turned towards the food line, trying to gauge what was there from across the room. “If you'll excuse me.” He walked away, leaving the blondes standing by the door.

“I hope that's not all you're eating,” Cullen spoke just under the din of the room, pointing at the bread in Ebrisa's hands.

She blushed slightly and lowered her head, as though ashamed. “No, I already ate. I just grabbed this to snack on later while working on my lesson plans.” She glanced up sheepishly. “Its the last one...”

Cullen smirked lightly. “Ah, I see.”

“But, I don't need it,” Ebrisa hurriedly got out. “I- I shouldn't have taken it.” She shoved the roll into Cullen's hand, face heating. “You can have it. Please, enjoy. Good night, Knight-Captain.” Without waiting for a reply, Ebrisa rushed out of the dining hall and towards her quarters.

Cullen stared at the crusty round, studying the cracks from where Ebrisa had gripped it in her fingers and the little crescent marks where her nails had actually broken through. He moved towards the food line, barely registering picking up a tray and getting it filled.

“Out of blasted bread,” Rylen muttered, snapping Cullen back to awareness. The Starkhaven man eyed the roll questioningly. “Where'd you get that? Are you going to eat it?”

Cullen moved the bread away protectively, which earned him another confused look. Finally, without saying a single word, Cullen kept eye contact with Rylen and took a bite.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
With the clergy too few and too needed in the city, Sebastian and Ebrisa began taking turns leading a morning service. It had started with just the two of them, but eventually others took notice and the chapel gained a small congregation of templars seeking some sort of normalcy. Duties often ran late, making it impractical to try and set a time for evening service – despite the fact that both the readers were so terribly worn out by the end of the day – so they settled for group worship just before breakfast and let the peaceful feeling carry them throughout the day.

It was after one of these services that a Starkhaven templar came running through the corridor sounding alarm for a beast on the grounds. No sooner had the echo of his call to arms died down than an angry screech ripped through the air. Ebrisa winced and gathered up her robes to prevent tripping as she bolted towards the sound. She followed the shouting and growling to the enclosed yard near the lab, trying to squeeze past the anxious soldiers as they circled the wyvern.

“Enchanter, keep back,” one of them urged, blocking her path with his free hand, the other pointing a sword at the creature. “I hear these things spit a deadly poison and can bite a man in half with a single snap of their maw.”

“That's true, so you better stand down,” Ebrisa grunted, ducking under the hand and forcing her way through the small crowd. She stumbled forward, barely avoiding the razor sharp edge of a sword as she straightened. A templar immediately reached out to grab her, but she hurried over to the wyvern with her hands raised in a calming motion.

“Easy, Leopold,” she cooed, voice soft but still able to grab the wyvern's attention away from the threatening soldiers. “You'll have to forgive these men. They're new here.” Ebrisa reached up and stroked under the wyvern's chin, the creature dipping his head in response. She began rubbing between Leopold's eyes, his menacing growl turning to a pleased rumble at her touch. “They don't know you're just a big, scaly, softy.”

The templars behind her were stunned silent, watching in disbelief as she petted and spoke sweet words to the wyvern. Finally, one of them gathered back enough mental functions to speak. “The Gallows keeps a pet wyvern?”

Ebrisa shot him a mild frown over her shoulder. “Leopold isn't a pet and we aren't keeping him here. After everything that happened, he just... got concerned and decided to move in. He's taken to sleeping in the tunnel network beneath the Circle, but during the day he moves around the yards and buildings.” It had been a little startling the first time she looked out the window of the lab and saw Leopold watching her, but she couldn't deny she enjoyed having the wyvern in the Gallows instead of out on the coast.

There were creatures in the tunnels that Leopold could eat and a pathway or two that lead out onto the coast. The gates that used to block them were removed, leaving Leopold free to come and go as he pleased, regardless if he knew how to swim in the harbor or not.

Her explanation didn't ease the soldiers' concerns and she sighed at the continued distrust they so blatantly displayed. “Leopold knows templars are to be trusted and so long as you do not threaten him, he will not attack you. That being said, he still won't let you get too close.” Ebrisa paused, taking the time to look around the group and trying to catch all of their eyes. “So if any of you get hurt trying to ride Leopold or doing anything else so foolish, I will refuse to treat your resulting injuries.”

A snort sounded from the back of the group. “Aye, _Mum_.” Snickers broke out among some of the group, singling out the initiates from the full-fledged templars.

“Do you want to give it a try right now? See how serious I am?” Ebrisa set a hand on her hip, jutting it out to the side just a little and looking at that moment very much like the stern mother they were laughing about. “I haven't gone over the wyvern venom antidote with the Tranquil yet and Leopold produces a very potent strain.”

The snickers evaporated into awkward coughs and throat clearing. “We should probably get to breakfast,” one of the men said, tucking his weapon away.

Ebrisa nodded, smiling gently as she rubbed Leopold's neck. “You really should.”

Once the templars cleared out, she turned her full attention back to the wyvern and sighed heavily. “I _was_ a bit snippy with them, wasn't I?” Her intention had been to simply dispel the tension and explain that Leopold was no more a threat to the Gallows than a guard dog, but seeing so many weapons drawn on a creature she had grown so close to flipped the switch in her head from political to protective. Many would call it strange, but Ebrisa felt that Leopold had become a friend over their many visits and exchanges, even if words had been one-sided.

She pressed her forehead against the end of his snout, rocking it slightly from side to side in a sort of nuzzle. “I won't let them hurt you. Behave today, and I promise to give you a nice brushing after supper.” Leopold rumbled in agreement, making Ebrisa giggle.

Big softy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like writing Rylen! It's hard to get a voice for a character that you only speak with a little in Inquisition and who has maybe half a page in "The World of Thedas vol2", but I think I did an okay job. This man's super power? He is immune to Ebrisa. Maybe it's because he remembers her as a preteen, maybe he senses a vibe coming from Cullen, but Rylen is smitten-free.


	3. Crushed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh darn it! Why did no one point out I posted this a day early?! My work schedule has been brutal because someone went on maternity leave and they're moving the rest of us around to compensate, so I completely forgot what day it was. Dang it!
> 
> I really don't want to wait all the way until Sunday to upload the next part, so - just this once - I'm going to upload on Thursday too. That's three chapters this week, but don't get used to it!

Starkhaven's templars were well received in the city. Whatever fault the citizens found with the local Order or blame they laid on the helmed heads in the Gallows, none of that carried over to the visiting soldiers. From day one the foreigners had done nothing but help and Kirkwall's people gave them all the respect, adoration, and thanks that those who served under Meredith had lost.

Rylen used the information Cullen gave him well, prioritizing the rescue of the trapped over blocked roads and smashed shops. He joined the templars at age fifteen, but all of the years before that were spent observing and assisting with the family business in some capacity, meaning that even while Rylen found a profession that was more fulfilling to him than laying stone, he'd had years of experience hammered into his head for just that.

They'd been working in Kirkwall for a week at this point, carefully and methodically removing rubble as directed and passing the chunks down the line into carts, but the insistent calls for help from within the collapsed building hurried an initiate beyond the patience he should have been using and the young man grabbed at rocks and wooden beams on his own accord. Rylen noticed too late and the rubble shifted downward, one of the trapped men crying out loudly as what had at one time been a wall smashed down on his leg.

Rylen mumbled a curse under his breath, inspecting the new arrangement of debris and trying to gauge which pieces were now load-bearing. He ordered the over-eager initiate to take the cart to the dump site outside the city gates before he caused more damage, then turned his focus back to the rescue effort.

 

Two hours later, they had cleared the rubble enough for most of the trapped people to get out. A templar dropped down into the hole to fasten ropes around the weakened individuals so the others could hoist them up to safety. After everyone but the pinned man were out and being taken care of, the templars turned their attention to the much more delicate procedure of getting the poor man free. It took another hour of digging and rigging supports before they could even get a clear view of the trapped limb, and when they did, it was clear he would need much more than a healing tonic.

A runner hurried back to the Circle and burst into the lab, interrupting Ebrisa in the middle of a sentence as he rushed out the situation. The mage quickly gathered a few supplies, calling out instructions to the Tranquil as she ran out the door with the templar. Ebrisa spent the journey back to the site going over the healing steps in her head – inspect the leg, find the break, dull the pain, shift the bone back into alignment, then mend the fragments together.

She'd need to summon a healing aura, but she had not been able to sense Sympathy or Belief since the annulment. Were they still upset with her for not allowing them to mend her? Surely they would not allow another to suffer because she had been so obstinate – that went against their nature. Ebrisa spared a moment to wonder once again how she had recovered, knowing it also went against their nature for the spirits who aided her to act without consent and make her an abomination, besides the fact that her wounds would have been completely healed by the time she awoke, if that had been the case.

“Finally,” Rylen sighed, waving Ebrisa over as soon as she was in sight. “He's still inside. Didn't want to move him too much with the way he is.”

Ebrisa nodded, appreciating the fact, and looked down into the dimly lit hole. “Should I just jump down?”

“More or less.” He grabbed hold of her wrist and forearm, guiding her over the edge and lowering the mage into the cleared space. “Nels, heads up!”

A sandy-haired templar already in the enclosed area hurried into position, holding out his arms. “Ready, Knight-Captain!” Rylen released his hold and dropped Ebrisa, the woman falling at least a yard before being caught around the waist. “Got you, Enchanter.” Nels set the woman on her feet, then directed her to the patient.

Ebrisa wobbled just a little from the head rush, but made her way to the wailing man without issue. She knelt at his side, visually inspecting the injuries. His ripped trouser leg had been cut back, exposing the scrapped skin and unnatural angle of the limb. The bone had not broken through his flesh, but Ebrisa knew just from looking that muscles, at the very least, were torn. She took a steadying breath, than summoned mana into her hands to examine the internal damage.

The patient started at the sudden feel of magic, snapping his eyes to the woman and violently trying to twist away. “Don't you touch me, you filthy mage! Get away!”

“Please, messere, calm,” Ebrisa urged softly. “I mean only to help. Your leg is badly broken.”

“You did this, all of this, you and your kind,” he growled through his pain as he rose up on an elbow, once again facing the woman.

“Messere, I-”

He spat at her, right in her face, and Ebrisa froze in shock. She knew there was anger, she knew there was hatred, but somehow in her mind she allowed herself to believe none of it was really meant for her. She had done her best to be helpful, to be good, to be kind, but in the end she was slotted in the same category as the maleficarum that haunted the dark corners, as the mages who turned to demons for aid and became abominations, and as the single man that destroyed so much with such a terrible act. Would Kirkwall ever again see her as an individual, or would she simple be a _mage_ in their eyes?

She wiped her face with a shaking hand as she swallowed her emotions. “Would you allow me to assist without magic?”

“Don't you dare touch me.” The man plopped down to rest on his back once again, the adrenaline of his anger fading. “Mage trash...”

Ebrisa nodded numbly and scooted back, removing her satchel and digging through it. “One of you will need to set the bone. I'll walk you through it the best I can.” The templars looked to one another, waiting for someone to volunteer. “We'll need something hard and straight to act as a splint. At least two, but three would be better, of equal length, if at all possible.”

Nels looked around the space as Ebrisa pulled out what supplies she had grabbed on her way out of the lab. Finding nothing, he called up top and soon a few empty sword scabbards dropped down. Another templar settled uneasily beside Ebrisa, glancing between the broken leg and the stoic mage.

“This will ease the pain somewhat. Have him drink it,” Ebrisa explained as she passed a small vial to the templar. Thankfully, the patient did not resist and once it was clear the concoction laced with trace amounts of Leopold's venom had taken affect, Ebrisa instructed the templar in resetting the bone. Even with the numbing effect coursing through him, the patient cried out loudly during the entire process, adding slurs and insults to Ebrisa between grunts of pain. _Wicked mage. Demon's whore. Blighted schemer. Blonde bitch._ Through it all Ebrisa did her best to remain calm, tried to remind herself that pain made people say terrible things. This man had a right to be upset, they all did, and she should not let it affect her.

Eventually the leg was wrapped with the scabbards, the hardened hide cases keeping it straight and immobile, and only then did Ebrisa hand over a healing tonic. It would not be enough to mend the bone instantly, but it would kickstart the process. Perhaps in a few weeks, the man would be able to walk around again, though with a considerable limp. The templars gathered him up, securing ropes under his arms and guiding his rise out of the collapsed building once and for all.

After the patient was whisked away on a cart to one of the Lowtown buildings Starkhaven's templars had set up for victim care and housing, Ebrisa was the next to be helped out. She had barely begun untying the rope when a rock collided with her head. The woman turned sharply to the pile of rubble, afraid that all of the jostling around had caused it to shift again and wondering if she'd be able to hold it back with her weak force magic long enough for the templars still inside to get out, but then another rock struck her from the opposite direction.

The man's screams had drawn a crowd to the site and the gathered citizens stared at her with a wide range of emotions. Some were clearly terrified, clutching their children behind them, and others glared with an intensity to rival Meredith at her peak of madness. Ebrisa's mouth dropped slightly as she realized the stones had not come from a crumbling pile, that she was not struck on accident, but that people were actually aiming for her. Kirkwall's citizens meant her harm.

Another rock whizzed by her cheek, thrown with such force that it split in two when it collided with the rubble behind her and the resulting crack echoed in the air. All at once, the crowd erupted in shouts and swears, pelting Ebrisa with fragments of their homes and businesses. They had a right to be upset. They did. She shouldn't let it affect her. She shouldn't....

“Get them back!” Rylen shouted to his men, moving his shield in front of the mage in an attempt to protect her from the scattered stones. He sighed heavily as he turned to look at the woman, regret twisting his features. “I never should have let them gather in the first place. You'd think I'd know a blasted lynch mob when I see one forming.” The captain finished untying the rope with his free hand, shaking his head. “Let's just get you back to the Circle. Got to protect our one mage from these misguided divs.”

He assigned a few templars to escort her home, all the while Ebrisa trying to ignore the voices behind her.

_“Kill the bitch! Finish the annulment!”_

_“She murdered the grand cleric!”_

_“My whole family is gone because of your kind!”_

_“Kirkwall doesn't want you!”_

She tried to not let it affect her. She really, really tried.

They had a right to be angry. They had a right....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It had taken some time to get used to working out of Meredith's office. Cullen had been apprehensive at first, but once he'd cleared out what few personal possessions his former commander had there, it felt just like any other room. He'd found no trace of red lyrium objects in any of the drawers or cabinets, and he breathed a little easier knowing he would not go mad like she did. Cullen had taken to leaving the office door open to keep the space from feeling too cramped and allow for a cross-breeze of fresh air, so when Rylen came clomping down the corridor at the end of the day, the Fereldan called out to him.

“You look especially ragged today.” There was no malice or humor in his voice, and Rylen took the comment for what it was – a fact.

“Cleared two sites, got eight people out in all,” Rylen groaned out, abandoning his office to walk into the other one. “That would normally be a good day.”

“So what made it a bad day?”

Another groan as the tattooed man rolled back his head and folded his arms. He summarized the events from that afternoon, being respectful enough to not actually repeat any of the words hurled at the mage. Cullen set his jaw firmly, carefully controlling his breathing as the other captain's story pushed him closer and closer to rage.

Ebrisa had dropped everything to go help, and the people turned on her. That anyone would want to put any blame for this catastrophe on Ebrisa was... _infuriating_. Cullen nodded when Rylen finished, not yet trusting himself to speak in normal tones, and the other man walked into the office across the hall to do what paperwork he could before supper.

 

Cullen walked with Rylen to the dining hall, intending to seek out Ebrisa and find a natural way to bring up what had happened. He wanted her to be alright, but he also wanted her to know it was okay if she wasn't. Cullen scanned the room several times, but found no trace of her amongst the templars and Tranquil. After finishing his meal as quickly as possible, the knight-captain checked with the kitchen staff if Ebrisa had come by earlier, but they denied seeing her at all.

The chapel was a good guess to her location, but it proved wrong. With the library already closed for the night and Leopold sleeping alone in a yard, Cullen knew there was one last place he could check before he should start growing concerned. The Mage Hall was eerily dark and quiet, feeling so much colder than even the open air outside. Each step echoed the entire length of the corridor and filled the stairwells as he made his way to Ebrisa's quarters. Is this what she experienced everyday now?

A knock on her door yielded no response and his soft calling of her name went similarly unanswered. Cullen took a calming breath, reminding himself that it was still too soon to get worried, and pushed into the quiet quarters. The few candles in the room had burned low, barely lighting the space at all, but it was enough for the templar to make out Ebrisa curled up on her bed. She lay asleep on top the covers, not having bothered to remove even her slippers, as though she had sunk onto the mattress the moment she laid eyes on it. Small, dark circles of bruises fanned out over her arms and legs, exposed only where her robes had bunched up. There was a fair-sized welt on her slightly furrowed brow and dried streaks of tears cutting through the dirt on her cheeks. All in all, the sight of her nearly broke his heart.

He took a step forward, the clinking of his armor loud enough to wake her with a start. Fear flashed across her face, eyes wide and panicked as she scrambled back towards the wall, then she slowly calmed her panting and relaxed. “Cullen...”

No Knight-Captain? “I didn't mean to rouse you,” he apologized, taking another step towards her. He paused, thinking about sitting beside her on the bed, but knew the urge to pull her into his lap and cradle her against his chest would be too strong. The chair from her nearby desk squeaked as Cullen pulled it across the floor, opting to rest there instead. He faced her directly, eyes once again going over the physical and emotional injures she'd suffered that day.

“What... what are you doing in here?” Ebrisa shifted around on her bed, pulling herself closer to the edge and trying to don some sort of dignified posture.

“You weren't at supper, so I came looking.”

“ _You're_ rarely at supper,” she mumbled, scrubbing a cheek clean with the hem of her sleeve.

Cullen nodded, consenting the fact. “Rylen told me what happened. I wanted to see how you were.”

Ebrisa stilled her hand, stilled her entire body, then took a deep breath. She lifted her head and flashed a smile that fell flat. “I'm fine.”

“You say that word a lot,” Cullen said with a frown. “I don't think you know what it means.”

“It means I'm okay. It means nothing's wrong. It means I'm not hurting.” Ebrisa sighed silently, shoulders sagging slightly, and smile struggling to remain in place as her hands fisted in the covers.

Cullen thought back on every instance she had used the word: Quentin tainting her, her father disowning her, Meredith turning on her... “If that's true, then why do you only repeat _fine_?” Cullen leaned forward, sitting on the very edge of the chair. “Why do you never say any of those other things when you say you're fine? Why do you cry at those times, if you aren't hurting?”

She looked away, feeling her eyes beginning to shimmer. “A lady... is expected to smile. Mother always said that. I'm supposed to hold back negative thoughts and feelings. I'm supposed to be fine, no matter what happens, but I can't always... I can't keep it in all the time.”

“Ebrisa,” Cullen reached forward and coaxed one of her hands from its death grip on the covers and held it gently in both of his own. “You shouldn't keep it in at all. I want to know what you're feeling, I want you to be honest with me.”

She looked up at him, tears in her lashes and threatening to spill down her face at any moment, and his chest ached at the pain he saw in her eyes. Ebrisa fought her own smile as she watched him, opening her mouth as though she had something she wanted to say, but as her eyes dropped to his chest the smile and words died away. Ebrisa glanced back to his eyes, holding his amber gaze long enough for him to watch the hope being crushed by sadness. “I wish it were that easy, Knight-Captain...”

“It could be,” Cullen whispered, deflating at hearing his title once again. “Ebrisa, I... I'm your friend. If something is bothering you, if something is hurting you, I want you to be honest about it.”

Ebrisa squeezed her hand against his, nodding meekly. “For you. I can do that for you.”

Warmth flooded his chest at her words. “Thank you. Might I make another request?”

She flashed a smile, shoulders shaking with an unheard laugh. “Careful, I might spoil you.”

That would be the day. “Would you please heal yourself?” Cullen released one of his hands from hers and brushed his fingertips lightly over the red bump on her head, the mage wincing slightly at the contact. “Just because others want to put all their anger for what happened on you, doesn't mean you need to bare it.”

“But... I'm the only one left. There are no other mages in the Gallows.” Ebrisa looked out into the dark corridor, frowning at the cold emptiness. “I'm alone.”

Cullen placed his hand on her cheek, turning her head to face him once again. “You aren't alone.” He could feel his own blush creep up as he watched Ebrisa's skin turn rosy and quickly pulled his hand away. “I can see how it would feel that way, isolated over here like you are.”

Ebrisa hummed in agreement, frowning slightly. “Would I be able to switch quarters? Perhaps move down to the Tranquil wing?”

“No offense, but you spend an awful lot of time with them as it is.” Cullen gave her a half teasing smirk. “If your days and nights are consumed with the company of Tranquil, then I fear you shall either adopt their monotone demeanor or go mad from over animations.”

She laughed properly at that and Cullen reveled in the sound. “Where then, if not with them?”

“The barracks?” He suggested with a slight shrug. “You could be settled into a female bunk without issue and the companionship would certainly do you some good.”

“Does that mean you wish to share the responsibility of being my friend?”

Cullen smirked wider, pleased to hear the jest in her voice. “Well, you certainly require a lot of attention.” Not that he minded a single bit. They talked a little while longer, working out the details of her move and where they could place the bulk of her belongings. When it was settled, they said their good-nights and Cullen headed back across the Gallows. In the solitude of his walk, the man was allowed to ponder about something he didn't want to think on too much earlier. Ebrisa more or less confirmed that when she said she was _fine_ , the opposite was really true. If that was always the case, then did that mean she hadn't been unaffected when he lied about their kiss? Did that mean that she hadn't forgotten it either?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *paces the floor*  
> I made the mistake of reading the Trespasser portion of my other fic last week and I miss my little Rutherford family so much! I NEED to get Cullen and Ebrisa together, but I don't want to rush the story along just because I want fluff, and little Allison, and Cullen adoringly calling Ebrisa "Wife", and all that good stuff from my other series.  
> But....  
> I miss them!  
> *wails dramatically*


	4. Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shame on you all for not pointing out I posted early! Shaaaaaame!  
> So, just this one time, there will be three chapters this week.  
> Sunday and Wednesday uploads to resume as per normal.  
> ...  
> Shame.  
> 

Marian was beyond excited when she first returned to her bunk at the end of duty and found Ebrisa stowing belonging in a footlocker. The templar did her best to make the mage feel comfortable with her new living arrangement, introducing her to all the other women in the bunk and teaching her some of the games they played in their spare time. Ebrisa was wondrously terrible at Wicked Grace or any other game that required lying to opponents, but excelled at simple games of chance. The templars usually gambled with coin, but whenever Ebrisa joined in they switched to using nick-knacks as tokens. On those games, the winner wasn't any richer and the items were all returned to their respective owners, but it just seemed the fairest option. Ebrisa didn't receive wages like they did, so she had nothing to lose with in cards and the other women weren't exactly comfortable with handing over their purses to the Maker-blessed mage and her insufferable luck with dice.

As odd as it had been at first, Ebrisa came to enjoy living in the barracks. While some of the soldiers had been hesitant and even cold in the beginning, the women were now pleasant and warm. Whatever apprehension or concern they had regarding fraternizing with the mage was more or less dismissed. After all, if the knight-captain trusted her enough to allow further training and rearranging of the Tranquil, then there could be no danger in following suit.

It was because of this perceived trust that the women in Ebrisa's bunk had no issue with complaining about their payment that month. It had been less than they expected, less than they had previously received for the same amount of work under the same rank. It was Marian that suggested the mage go speak to Cullen about it, the comment making Ebrisa lose her grip on her belt as she dressed and dropping the unbuckled straps to the ground with a muffled clang.

“What? Why me? I'm not affected.” Ebrisa bent down and retrieved the belt, trying once again to secure it in place.

“If one of us says anything, it will only sound like we're complaining. Which, I mean, we _are_ , but it still needs to be addressed,” Marian sighed, tossing a hand into the air. “The Knight-Captain will listen if it comes from _you_.”

Ebrisa hummed in thought, slowly consenting the point. “It would have more weight coming from a third party...”

“Right. _That's_ why he'd listen to you.” Marian shot the blonde a smirk only she could see and Ebrisa blushed just a little. “Now go use that good luck of yours for _our_ benefit for once.”

The Tranquil had progressed far in their training, some quicker than others and those men and women had taken to accompanying the templars into the city to be close at hand to deal with injuries. While the rest still needed to learn, they had passed beyond needing constant instruction or supervision for crafting the potions and poultices that used to fill the storerooms, so Ebrisa gave them tasks for the morning before heading off to the Templar Hall. It had been weeks since she'd last spoken to Cullen, since he had asked her to not hold back her feelings, since he had encouraged her to be honest. She very nearly was honest about her deepest emotion, but the sigil of the Templar Order engraved into Cullen's armor acted as a cold, hard reminder. Cullen was bending – if not breaking – enough rules as it was by being her friend, and that was all she could expect the templar to be for the moment.

 

Cullen had hoped that after the first month of being acting commander, he would have a handle on the new responsibilities enough to breathe. He didn't, and it grew no easier the next month. It seemed that every week someone brought up an issue that needed immediate attention or found some new task that only he could perform, so when he heard a knock on his open door the urge to groan was nearly overwhelming.

“What is it now?” The man did his best to _not_ sound like a petulant child as he tore his eyes from the pile of reports.

Ebrisa lingered in the doorway, as though she was no longer certain of her task. “Is this a bad time? I can come back later, when you aren't so busy.”

He snorted, leaning back in the chair and rubbing at his eyes. “I fear that means you might never return. Along with handling Meredith's responsibilities, I still have my duties as knight-captain.”

“Oh,” Ebrisa mumbled, taking a half-step back into the hall. “I don't mean to further burden you. I'm certain the issue will take care of itself in time.”

“If only they could,” he sighed. “Please, do not hesitate to add to my plate – no one else does.”

She worried on her bottom lip, scanning the room and its piles of ledgers and folders. “If you're certain...” The woman stepped up to the covered, yet somehow organized, desk and folded her hands in front of herself for fear of carelessly smacking a stack and sending papers every which way. “Ser Marian and the others in my bunk have expressed issue concerning their pay.”

Cullen cursed softly under his breath and pushed away from the desk, crossing the room to a bench and pulling a ledger from a stack of similar books. “I could have sworn I did that right. No one else has complained. Are they certain?” He flipped through the pages, once again trying to make sense of the writing. Another muttered phrase slipped past his lips as he squinted at the lines of notes and numbers.

“They sounded fairly certain,” Ebrisa quietly responded, not wanting to add to Cullen's visibly building stress. “If wages were reduced because of the extra expenses spent on Kirkwall's recovery, I'm sure they will understand.”

Cullen looked up at her, confusion in his voice. “I can do that?”

“Haven't you needed to?” The woman frowned, folding her arms. “With the formari shops closed and all local donations going directly to the meager clergy's efforts comforting the city, we don't have any money coming in. Starkhaven's templars are still being paid by their Circle, but their supplies and meals are not. There are numerous outside expenses these past months that have never been budgeted before, so surely some cut backs were needed.”

“I... I have no idea...” Cullen set down the payroll and picked up another ledger, flipping through the newer pages and grumbling. “I swear, I never saw Meredith do any of this.”

“She likely didn't.” Ebrisa came up beside him, studying the lines of text and denominations. “I believe the first enchanter normally controls a Circle's finances. May I?”

Cullen handed her the heavy book eagerly, glad to be rid of the confounding thing. “So I am to be knight-captain, knight-commander, _and_ first enchanter?” He rolled his eyes skyward and held back a pitifully tired whimper.

“As impressive as you are, my dear knight-captain, I fear even you could not handle such a task,” Ebrisa giggled softly, eyes scanning the ledger and missing the mild shock on Cullen's face.

 _My dear knight-captain –_ an embellishment to his title that was both possessive and fond. She had either not realized what she'd said or not meant it as he had taken it and when she spoke again, Cullen had missed her words. He shook his head, trying to get back to the matter at hand. “Pardon?”

She looked away from the ledger, smiling up at him in amusement. “I said, can't you assign your old duties to someone else? Promote another to captain so you may focus on larger things?”

“Were that I could,” he sighed, rubbing at his neck. “I've all the responsibilities of a knight-commander, but no authority to truly act as one.”

“Still no word from the knight-vigilant? But it's been months!” Ebrisa balanced the ledger against her torso with one hand, the other sweeping angrily at the mountain of paperwork. “How can we possibly begin to truly fix things if we have no leader? Does the lord templar expect Kirkwall to sit on its hands and watch as the flames grow higher?”

Her voice was so frustrated, tone so uncharacteristically incredulous, that Cullen couldn't help but laugh. “Perhaps I should send you to the White Spire to give him an earful in person.”

Ebrisa blushed lightly in embarrassment, dropping her eyes back to the ledger. “Perhaps you should; he's had two months to make the very easy decision of naming you.”

“In the meantime,” Cullen sighed, reaching for the ledger, “I shall continue to be knight-captain-commander and accountant.”

The woman took a step back, clutching the book. “From what I've seen so far, it would be best if you left that last part alone. Finances are not your strong suit, Knight-Captain.”

If it weren't so undeniably true, Cullen might have feigned insult. “And whose strong suit are they?”

Ebrisa smiled as she set the ledger on the bench.“Would you be surprised to hear they are mine?”

“Oh? I didn't think that was really in Circle curriculum.” Cullen raised a brow as the mage began to gather up blank paper and the spare ink bottle.

She straightened her spine and rolled her shoulders back, donning a dignified posture as she tilted her chin up slightly. “The Circle? Heavens, no. This training was bestowed upon me by my elegant lady mother from the moment I could recite my numbers. The lady of the house is tasked with managing the estate – finances, staff concerns, social affairs – everything that is required to keep the household running smoothy so that the lord might focus on business and political matters. It is her great honor and privilege to serve her lord husband thus, to alleviate some of the burden in his life with a well-maintained home.”

Ebrisa glanced to Cullen, finding amusement on his previously tired face, and smiled lightly in a miniature victory for having already eased some of his stress. But she was not a noblewoman managing estate affairs and he was not her lord or her husband, nor could he be either, and her smile and posture fell. “It will be nice to put some of these skills to use, even if it is a far departure from their intended purpose.” She sighed as discreetly as she could, then turned to Cullen and asked for a quill.

They spent the rest of the morning working in a comfortable silence. Cullen had tried to offer the desk and chair, but relented when Ebrisa pointed out the very obvious fact that it would only serve to create a bigger mess for him to move his work out of the way. She settled on the floor instead, sitting on a pillow and using the bench as a table. She went back to Orsino's entries to see how things were managed before and carefully reviewed the proceeding marks made by Cullen's hand. The templar had tried, he really had, but there were several small errors early on that snowballed as the weeks went by until it became the jumbled mess that even he had trouble deciphering.

Ebrisa made careful corrections in the margins and notes on loose sheets to address after the books were balanced. It seemed that initially the decrease in living expenses for the fewer residents in the Gallows offset the increased expenditures, but that surplus was running extremely low now. The Chantry sent a quarterly stipend at the beginning of each season, but Ebrisa was not comfortable relying on that. While the residents of the Gallows had decreased, the needs for supplies outside the Circle had increased. Would that be taken into account when the treasurer determined how much to send come Firstfall? The fact that Cullen had not heard anything from the knight-vigilant made her concerned that the Chantry may have cut ties with Kirkwall, seeing the destruction of the cathedral as a rejection of the religion. If they didn't send the stipend of coin, then what about the rations of lyrium? The stores they had were going much faster with Starkhaven's forces using it as well and when it was gone, it was gone. There were too many uncertainties to just stand around and hope Val Royeaux sent their usual chests.

She slipped out a clean sheet of parchment and penned a letter to Chancellor Haider, posing her queries in such a way that didn't sound greedy or ungrateful for all the aid given in the past. Ebrisa did her best to convey how the templars were working for the people, explaining that the Chant of Light was still very much a part of their lives, and reminding the bureaucrat on the other side of the letter that the surviving templars were no more responsible for the devastation that plagued the city than the citizens they were now protecting as they once protected mages.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“These are torn garments,” Ella voiced softly as the Tranquil stared at the pile of shirts and socks on the crafting table. “Mending these is the owner's duty.”

Ebrisa nodded, setting a small basket of thread and a flat dish of needles before the group. “Normally, yes, but today you will be practicing stitching. Fabric is no analog for flesh, but for now it will do.”

She showed them how to thread the curved needles, explaining that it is always best to run the metal through a flame before using it on a patient. The enchanter walked them through suturing as she mended a sock, reminding her students to keep the stitches close and not grab too much skin – or material, as the case currently was – to prevent bunching, unneeded tension, and painful scarring. They steadily worked through the pile with much trial and error, but Ebrisa was patient and there with an answer for every question that popped up.

A templar came to the lab, pausing in the doorway as he watched the sewing circle. “This is what you do all day?”

“They're practicing suturing wounds,” Ebrisa explained as she crossed the room to the templar. “I can teach you to sew as well, if you'd like. I'm certain at least one of these socks is yours.”

The templar mumbled out a decline, dropping his eyes to the side in mild embarrassment. He cleared his throat and lifted a letter, recalling his purpose. “Mail for you, Enchanter Ebrisa.”

“Thank you, Ser Jacob.” She took the missive and smiled politely, the young templar nodding in reply before walking back to his station.

The envelope had at one time been exquisitely pristine, but the crisp parchment was now wrinkled in parts and smudged with dirt from its delivery. A quick examination revealed the seal of the Grand Cathedral securing the flap and a curious mix of fear and excitement washed over the mage. This was what she had been waiting weeks for – answers from the Chantry. Would they send aid? Were they to leave Kirkwall to its own devices? Ebrisa broke through the wax and opened the letter, reading it carefully as her mind stayed alert for key words.

 

_First Enchanter Ebrisa –_

_I have heard of you from a source I trust most deeply. She says you are a caring woman who is strong in the faith, but naïve. Reading your letter, I can not say I disagree, but I will add a few things that my dear associate had not mentioned. You are thoughtful, dare I say politically minded, and deeply devoted to the Circle as well as Kirkwall. These are all very important qualities for a woman of your station. It would be so easy for you to harbor anger, or even hatred, for all the trials and tribulations endured by yourself and your fellow mages leading up to the destruction of your city's Chantry and the annulment of your home._

_I say home because that is the impression you gave in your letter. You do not see the Gallows as the prison it was in history, nor a cage you yearn to escape, but a place you care about. Rest assured, your stipend will arrive in its normal amount with the understanding that the funds will also be used to continue the relief effort and see to the remaining clergy's needs. I would be quite inept at my calling if I ignored all you have written and allowed the collapse of your home._

_Apologies for the delay in lyrium. With all of the chaos surrounding your city and spiraling outwards, finding a secure passage has been an issue. Please inform Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford to expect a shipment within the week and thank him for his patience. Viscountess Hawke and Guard-Captain Vallen both spoke very highly of him in missives that appear to have arrived months ago and I am certain the two of you will continue to work towards the restoration of your home._

_Maker's blessings be upon you._

    * _Divine Justinia V_




 

Ebrisa stared at the letter, reading and re-reading it at least a dozen times before she ran out of the room without a word to her students and sprinted to the Templar Hall. She burst into Cullen's office excitedly, the smile on her face as she panted to catch her breath the only clue he had that there wasn't something terribly wrong.

“I take it you received good news,” he said slowly, setting down his quill and waiting for the woman to explain. Her smile was contagious and before Cullen even knew what was causing it, he found himself mirroring the expression.

“You're the knight-commander!” Ebrisa held out the letter, pointing to his name in the swirling script.

“Are you serious?” He rounded the desk with an impressive ease and took the parchment into his hands, reading the words multiple times just as she had. “Guarantees of financial support and lyrium as well. Ebrisa, this is from the Divine. How did you get a response from Her Holiness?”

The woman shrugged lamely, completely baffled by the entire thing. “I wrote the chancellor in charge of finances the day I balanced the ledgers. I didn't expect much of anything in return, let alone Divine Justinia personally promoting you.”

“You mean _us_ , don't you?” Cullen flipped to the second page of the letter – an official decree putting him in charge. He glanced up when he noticed the confused look on the woman's face and turned the letter back around, pointing at her name as she had done for him.

“Yes, she addressed the letter to me.”

“And what does it say?”

“ _Enchanter Ebrisa_ ,” she read out loud.

Cullen tapped the page again. “There's a word you're skipping.”

She read the line again, a soft exhale of air rushing past her parted lips. “First... It says _First Enchanter Ebrisa_.” She shook her head, trying to dismiss the importance. “I'm not First Enchanter, I'm _Only Enchanter_.”

Cullen pressed the decree into her hands, ignoring her protest. “Well you've certainly been acting like a first enchanter. Organizing the Tranquil, overseeing education, taking over finances... don't act like you don't deserve the title, First Enchanter.”

She ran her fingers over the ink that spelled her name, knowing she should be proud of such a position. Part of her felt she was gifted it simply because she was the only choice and to leave it empty would make the Circle look weak. Another part – a much quieter part – knew that wasn't why the Divine had made the decision. Ebrisa was uncertain how much of the letter's assessment she agreed with, but at least two things were true.

Ebrisa cared deeply for the Gallows and Kirkwall, and she would do whatever it took to help it with Cullen at her side. Together, they would heal their home.

 

 

[](https://tokutenshi-doodles.tumblr.com/image/161308826714)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did things!  
> First, I made this comic based on Snowfleur's comment from chapter one.  
> Second, I figured out html code so I could post it directly!  
> [](https://tokutenshi-doodles.tumblr.com/image/161308826714)  
> Ah, I'm having trouble getting the link tag to stay in place, so here's the link for my doodle tumblr by itself  
> [TokuTenshi Doodles](https://tokutenshi-doodles.tumblr.com/image/161308826714)


	5. Music

None were surprised when Cullen promoted Barclay to Knight-Captain. The older man was level-headed, experienced in battle, and had been an officer since before Cullen transferred to Kirkwall. None were surprised, but it didn't mean some of the knight-lieutenants that were passed over weren't angry about it. Karras in particular had felt his rise was imminent due to the extra responsibilities Meredith had bestowed on him in recent years, but she wasn't in charge any more and it was becoming clearer and clearer every day that Cullen was not his predecessor. Given the current state of things, however, none were about to lament that fact any time soon.

Not much changed with Ebrisa, save the fact that she now had correspondence trickling in. She was hesitant to kick out Rylen and take over Orsino's old office, so instead she used the single desk in her bunk for writing and kept the ledgers in the lab. She was mostly considerate about the shared space and cleared her things away when she was finished, but when she'd run out of ink mid-sentence and had to fetch another bottle, her papers were understandably left in place.

“She's taking forever,” Halle sighed, eying the desk. “If we don't start soon, we'll never finish a proper game of Diamondback before lights out.”

Moira shuffled the deck, shaking her head. “Her official business does take precedent over our gambling.”

“Nothing takes precedent over me wiping the floor with you girls,” Marian grumbled. She dropped down from her top bunk and marched over to the desk, scooping the papers into her arms. “Someone get her footlocker open. Want to make sure she can find all this later.”

“How terribly considerate of you,” Moira mocked as Halle eagerly rushed to help. She flipped up the lid of the chest and pushed items aside to make room as Marian stumbled blindly towards her. A bundle of dotted papers caught her eye and the ginger-haired templar pulled out the partially hidden sheets to inspect them further just before the correspondence came fluttering down into the footlocker. Marian and Audrey grabbed the desk and pulled it screeching across the floor until it rested between two bunks.

Moira started dealing immediately, reminding everyone that she was not involved in the theft should the enchanter become cross. The other women began to arrange their hands and settle on the straw mattresses, but one pile remained untouched. She scanned the room for the missing player and spotted the red-head still kneeling at the open footlocker. “Halle, you in or what?”

“Hmm?” Halle twisted on the floor, tearing her eyes away from the papers in her hand. “Look at this thing. Its in code, I think.” She rose up to her feet and held out the papers to the group, the others squinting at them curiously.

“That's... sheet music,” Audrey slowly identified. She took the papers and flipped through them, sucking on her teeth as she tried to follow the notes. “What's Enchanter doing with this?”

Ebrisa came back into the room and stilled, seeing first the scattering of papers in her open footlocker, then the group gathered around the desk. “I know it's game night, but I was nearly finished,” she sighed tiredly while approaching the group. “Might I be able to complete my work before... I...” Her voice trailed off, eyes widening as she recognized the sheet music in Audrey's suddenly sweaty hands. Ebrisa snatched the papers back, face heating as she crushed them to her chest. “What are you doing?!” She squeaked in a mixture of mortification and anger. “This is private!”

“I wasn't involved,” Moira declared calmly, studying her cards.

“Oh!” Marian pointed suddenly at the mage, grinning widely. “You play the thing! What is it called? With all the strings and the curvy bit?”

“The harp,” Ebrisa mumbled, pressing the composition tighter against her thumping heart. “You shouldn't have gone through my things. This... this is... I'm not ready.” She looked away, feeling small and uncertain. The Orlesian sister's idea of confessing to Cullen through song had originally seemed so doable, but after everything that happened, Ebrisa didn't think the Gallows were particularly up for a concert. How could she sneak in one song, if no one was in the mood to hear any?

“Not ready?” Audrey repeated curiously. “So you wrote that? No wonder it looked unfinished.”

“You should play it for us!” Halle bounced excitedly. “Cade said you played for the wyvern in his cave, but I was never assigned escort, so I didn't get to hear.”

Marian nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Trevelyan, play it! I swear to be only slightly critical of the piece.”

“How is she supposed to play it without a harp?” Moira looked up at her bunkmates with an unamused expression. “Dolts.”

“Andraste's tits,” Marian grumbled, dropping her cards onto the desk. “It's still in the cave, isn't it?”

“Do you think the knight-commander will let us go get it?” Audrey hummed.

“Maybe if a patrol is already on the coast,” Halle answered. “Its not really critical, per say, but if it'll only take a little extra time then there shouldn't be any harm in it.”

“Perfect! Garret is heading that way tomorrow, so he can bring it back,” Marian cheered, clenching a fist in victory.

“You sure keep close tabs on him,” Audrey teased. “Pay special attention to his _comings_ and goings, do you?” Halle and Moira joined Audrey in laughter at the emphasized word, but Marian pulled a grimace somewhere between horrified and disgusted.

“Maker's balls, Audrey. That's just – eww! He's like my brother! Nasty!” Marian shuddered in revulsion. “If you ever decide to follow that train of thought for yourself, _please_ do not tell me.”

Moira got her snickering under control and set down her cards, relenting to the fact that no game was going to be played that night after all. “Garret certainly knows how to groom a fine beard, but I wouldn't trust him to keep anything private _private_. One romp with that man and the whole of the Gallows is bound to know before you even have your clothes back on.”

“I can confirm he is terrible at keeping secrets,” Marian said with a nod. She paused to smack the giggling Audrey before continuing. “ _Regular_ secrets. What did I _just_ say about him, hmm?”

“I can think of a few men I wouldn't mind bragging about a tumble or two,” Halle hummed with a smirk.

“Who'd brag about bedding _you_?” Audrey said with a mock sneer, only to get a face-full of pillow.

The templars went on to discuss who would make for a good turn – both in theory and from firsthand knowledge – and Ebrisa stood awkwardly to the side, slowly backing away from the conversation and wondering how it had deteriorated so quickly. On one hand, she was glad to no longer be the focus, but on the other, the soldiers' brazen discussion was making her blush all the way to her ears. Unfortunately, since moving into the barracks, Ebrisa had been exposed to such talk repeatedly.

She had been under the naïve assumption that – as swords of the Chantry – templars were virtuous in matters of the flesh. That's not to say Ebrisa expected the whole of the Order to have taken vows of celibacy, but surely show more restraint than her bunkmates seemed to have displayed. Isabela had mentioned a few times about seeing certain templars in _The Blooming Rose_ , but from the sounds of it the soldiers sought out intimacies amongst their peers just as much as outside the ranks.

More than that, from what the giggling and gossiping women huddled around the desk were saying, it was all purely physical. There was no courting, just coupling. No relationships, just relations. No love, just lust. Thankfully, Cullen remained excluded from such discussions and – not for the first time – Ebrisa wondered if it was because he couldn't be counted amongst the promiscuous or if her bunkmates were purposefully leaving him out for her sake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Remarkably enough, the Dalish harp had not been forgotten about and was indeed waiting for Ebrisa after supper the very next day. Halle and Marian urged her to play, and after closing the door, Ebrisa settled on a chair with the harp between her legs and played a tune Varric had given her. The templars recognized it instantly as a Kirkwall favorite and loudly began singing the lyrics in different keys.

When it was over, the enchanter began to set the instrument on the floor when a muffled voice from behind the door called out “Do another!”

Moira threw the door open and glared halfheartedly at the men standing on the other side. “Didn't your mother tell you its rude to eavesdrop, Jemmy?”

“Not eavesdropping if the sound caries down the damn hall, Moira,” he retorted with a chuckle.

Ebrisa ducked her head behind the frame of the harp, trying to hide from her own mild embarrassment. “Sorry to disrupt your evening. This isn't exactly something that can be played quietly.”

“I wasn't complaining,” Jemmy said with a smirk. He turned to the others behind him. “How's about you, Tobey? Oscar?” The other men shrugged lightly, mild smiles of their own in place. Jemmy nodded and faced the room again. “So why is it that you ladies get to have a party and the rest of us poor louts are excluded?”

“Louts don't get parties,” Marian sighed as she slung an arm around his shoulders and poked a finger into his cheek. “But at least you know you're one. That's the first step to recovery, I hear.”

“True enough,” he grumbled. “Just feels wrong to not be doing anything for Satinalia.”

Ebrisa worried on her bottom lip, feeling more than a little responsible for that. Satinalia was coming up in a few days and, due to the fact that the stipend would not be arriving until later in the month, the Gallows was forced to forgo the sort of celebration its occupants were used to. She worked with the kitchen staff as best she could to utilize their food stores in a more festive manner, but nothing special was really on the menu. After everything that happened, after everyone's hard work, they deserved a break – even if it was only for one evening.

An idea slowly formed in Ebrisa's head as the templars talked among themselves. She plucked a single string, sending a low note reverberating through the room and feeling it resonate in her bones as she made up her mind. She only had a few days to prepare.

~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Breakfast and the mid-day meal were the same as always and filled with more grumbling than usual. Starkhaven's men in particular were disgruntled about the glossing over of the holiday, because while some of them had volunteered to come to Kirkwall, the majority had no say in the assignment. Starkhaven was a far wealthier city-state and its templars were used to better accommodations, better food, and better celebrations. They'd been in Kirkwall for months and the coming of winter meant it would be at least another three before they could even think to return home.

When the tired forces came meandering towards the dining hall for supper, they expected nothing special and knew they should be ashamed to wish for otherwise. The food was much as it always was with a slight tweak to the normal bread to make it sweeter and almost cake-like – a simple, but appreciated change that showed the kitchen staff had tried. While there were no decorations strewn about the hall, there was one addition that shifted the feel of the space tremendously.

Ebrisa sat on a bench near the food line, eyes focused on the Dalish harp resting against her as she moved her fingers over the strings and filled the air with music. Satinalia was a rather rambunctious holiday in some parts of Thedas, so she tried to stay away from Chantry hymns and instead played the songs Hawke's friends had shown her.

The reception had been awkward at first, the soldiers not knowing what to make of the woman as they passed her to collect their meal, but as the captive audience grew in number, they grew in acceptance as well. Someone called out a request and Ebrisa began to comply, but the voice booed the attempt. “Do it proper! I know you know the words, Enchanter!”

She hesitated, chewing nervously on her lip. She told herself that after she sang a few songs and Cullen arrived, then she would perform her musical love letter. It could hide in between the other pieces and go unnoticed by the templars, but she would pay close attention to Cullen and try to gauge his reactions. Ebrisa had hoped to get a bit further into the evening first, but the meal was already in full swing and still Cullen had not shown. Perhaps it would be alright to start now.

_“Too long I have traveled, soon I'll see her smiling,_

_The girl in Red Crossing I'm longing to see._

_O, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,_

_Waiting by the Chantry to marry me.”_

The room fell quiet as she sang, listening with reverence despite the nature of the tune and Ebrisa became acutely aware of how loud her voice sounded in the hall when all other voices hushed. She could feel their eyes on her, watching her, and suddenly everything had seemed like such a terrible idea.

_“I've dreamed of the kiss I stole 'neath the arbor._

_I've dreamed of the promise 'neath the old ash tree._

_O, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,_

_Waiting by the Chantry to marry me.”_

She was shaking, her voice beginning to reflect her tremble, and Ebrisa wondered how terribly undignified it would be for the first enchanter to bolt out of the room mid-meal. Her eyes flitted to the door repeatedly, plotting her escape.

_“One last stream to cross, one last hill to wander,_

_Until I reach the love I'm longing to see._

_O, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,_

_Waiting by the Chantry to marry me.”_

A familiar voice joined hers from the tables and Ebrisa turned sharply to it. Sebastian tilted his head encouragingly, urging her to continue even as more voices began to pick up the folk song. Her nerves died away, the quiver in her voice disappearing, and she relaxed.

_“Running through the streets, only silence follows._

_Elven arrows sunk into the old ash tree._

_O, I know she is there, daisies in her hair,_

_Waiting by the Chantry to marry me.”_

It wasn't exactly a fitting song for the holiday, but the soldiers rallied around it as they realized why the enchanter had brought the instrument to supper in the first place. The Circle could not afford the festivities the turning of the season called for, and its single mage was doing her best to make up for that fact, offering a talent she did not usually display to so many in way of a gift.

_“Ruby on the green, petals lost and drifting._

_Take her to His side, Andraste hear my plea._

_I found her lying there, daisies in her hair,_

_Waiting by the Chantry to marry me._ ”

 

When the song was finished, the room erupted in clapping and cheers with hoots of laughter scattered around the tables. All in all, the space felt much more lively and the mood had shifted to something more lighthearted, something more fitting for the holiday. More requests were made and Ebrisa complied with what she knew, sometimes on her own and sometimes joined by others, and all the while she kept an eye on the door.

Rylen called out for a Starkhaven tavern song Ebrisa couldn't be expected to know and before the mage could begin apologizing, several of Rylen's men started up the bouncy tune. The visiting templars joined in enthusiastically, many rising from their seats and pounding fists on the table to keep the familiar rhythm going. Ebrisa leaned back and watched with a smile, glad to see the hard-working soldiers having a bit of fun after so many months away from home.

Nels appeared suddenly at her side and quickly took the harp out of Ebrisa's light grasp. She turned to the sandy-haired man, the question that began forming on her lips turning into a squeak as another Starkhaven templar grabbed her arm. Before she had a chance to ask what was going on, Ebrisa found herself dragged to the wide space between the rows of tables where others were beginning to gather in a circle, some willing participants and others pulled along just as she had been.

The accented singing continued, loud and boisterous, and the Starkhaven templars lead their captured partners in a simple carole with lots of spinning and partner swapping. Ebrisa found herself being passed around from smiling face to smiling face, unable to condemn a single one of the dancers for abducting her from her bench. By the time the song ended, Ebrisa was slightly dizzy and found herself partnered with a Starkhavener she knew well.

“My lord Sebastian,” she said while trying to catch her breath. “I see you had the pleasure of joining the dance as well.”

“It was lively, to be sure, but I don't know if I'd call _that_ a dance.” Sebastian chuckled softly and extended his hand. “What say you we show these templars what a dance really looks like?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and bread vs Rylen with no intention of stealing bread.
> 
>  
> 
> [ ](https://tokutenshi-doodles.tumblr.com/image/161416746414)


	6. Need

Cullen threw back the covers and climbed out of bed for the third time that night. He made several passes across the entirety of his quarters before giving up on sleep and relighting a few candles at his desk, dropping heavily into the chair.

The noises coming from the dining hall were a far departure from the usual rowdiness and Cullen couldn't help but smile at the merriment as he approached. Once he reached the door, he found people standing in a wide ring, clapping out a steady rhythm and watching a single pair of dancers in the center. He began to join the crowd out of curiosity, but a flash of golden curls froze him in place.

Sebastian and Ebrisa were moving together in a well practiced routine, both navigating the steps with a surprising ease as they followed the music-less beat generated by the spectators. Ebrisa smiled through all of it, a laugh escaping her as she was spun out into a twirl. Sebastian pulled her back, returning his hand to its previous home on her waist and ducking his head to say something that made the woman laugh once again. Cullen left immediately, moving through the empty corridors until he was in his quarters and the sounds of happiness were far behind him. Ebrisa's laughter usually brought a warm smile to his lips, but knowing her joy was caused by another man as he embraced her intimately made the melodic sound cut like a dagger in Cullen's chest.

He tried to forget it and go to sleep, but his mind wouldn't let him do either, so now here he was, hours later, with the same thoughts circling in his head. Carver had mentioned once that Sebastian and Ebrisa had been close during their noble childhoods and Cullen wondered how he had forgotten that fact until seeing the pair holding one another that evening. It made sense that the two would get along so well, sharing a history and understanding things in their pasts that Cullen couldn't begin to comprehend.

Sebastian was far more religious than Cullen, not only attending service every day, but working with Ebrisa to lead it in lieu of Chantry sisters. Sebastian was calmer and more understanding than Cullen, walking around with a gentle smile instead of the templar's scowl. Sebastian was more eloquent and diplomatic than Cullen, diffusing quarrels with words instead of swords or fists. Sebastian was a true-born prince, and Cullen was a low-born soldier. By all accounts, Sebastian was the prefect match for Ebrisa and Cullen didn't stand a chance.

A knock at his door broke him from his troubled thoughts. Normally, an interruption so late at night would have greatly irritated the man, but Cullen was desperate for a distraction and pulled open the door without a second thought. Ebrisa started a little, rattling the dishes on the covered tray in her hands as she stared straight ahead. Her mouth dropped slightly and her cheeks reddened, standing motionless in the corridor outside his quarters.

“Ebrisa?” Cullen asked cautiously, confused to see the woman in the officer wing. His voice snapped her to attention and she redirected her gaze to his eyes, looking suddenly guilty. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” She quickly rushed out. A beat later she shook her head and tried again. “I mean, you didn't come to supper, so I brought you something.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, trying yet again to not think of that evening. “Thank you. There's space on the desk.” Cullen took a step to the side, allowing the woman room to pass through. Ebrisa hesitated, hovering a foot over the threshold before finally pushing forward and walking briskly to his relatively uncluttered desk.

She pulled back the teacloth after setting down the tray, twisting the fabric in her hands as Cullen came up beside her to inspect her offering. Ebrisa stiffened as he reached around her to pick up the bowl of stew and cast her a small smirk when he discovered it was still warm.

Ebrisa rubbed at her forehead, laughing awkwardly for being caught. “I may have used a little magic. If the hard-working Knight-Commander can't have a hot meal on Satinalia, then truly I have failed this holiday.”

“No one blames you for the state we're in,” he reminded, scooping his spoon through the stew and trying to guess its contents. The room fell quiet while Cullen silently ate, wondering both why Ebrisa remained and what was making her so nervous.

Once he was nearly halfway through the stew, Ebrisa spoke up in a quiet, timid voice. “I was going to bring this to your office, but the sentry said you'd left hours ago. Why didn't you come to the dining hall?”

Images of the nobles dancing flooded his mind and Cullen made a particularly angry swipe around the bowl. “I rarely do. Didn't think it would matter.”

“It did,” Ebrisa mumbled, pulling at the fraying edge of the teacloth. “I had something I wanted to... I was going to...” She sighed dejectedly and looked over her shoulder to the rumpled sheets on Cullen's bed. “Did I wake you? I was trying to be considerate in bringing your meal, but perhaps not.”

The man finished the last of the stew and shook his head. “No. I tried to sleep, but was too restless.” He turned back to the desk and set the bowl on the tray, pausing as he saw his bare arm and suddenly remembered he was only in a loose pair of trousers. He glanced to Ebrisa, now understanding her nervous fidgeting and flushed skin as he felt his own start to heat from embarrassment. “Your, um, your gesture was well appreciated.”

She turned back to him, eyes running over his bare torso before meeting his own, looking just as guilty as when he first opened the door. He understood that part now, too.

“Was it alright?” Ebrisa asked softly. “The food, I mean.”

“You didn't have any?”

She shrugged a shoulder and rubbed her fingers. “I was too nervous to eat before supper, and I was too busy to eat during.”

Cullen bit back the snarky remark his jealous mind wanted him to voice and somehow managed to say something else. “Why were you nervous?”

Ebrisa shifted on her feet, still rubbing her fingers. “I played the harp during supper to lighten the mood. People seemed to enjoy it, but... but I wanted you to hear it, too.”

“Oh.” It was the only thing Cullen trusted himself to say at the moment, knowing that any comment he made about her enjoying herself would come off as accusing and bitter, and Ebrisa was undeserving of either. She was allowed to have fun without him. She was allowed to pursue other men.

A tight whine broke the silence and Ebrisa's face twisted in mortification as she recognized the rumble in her empty stomach. “O-oh... um, pardon. I suppose nerves are no longer suppressing my hunger.”

“A rather desperate cry for attention,” Cullen chuckled. He glanced back at the tray to see what else the woman had brought him when she should have been feeding herself. “Here.” Cullen held out the honeyed roll, amusement pushing away the negative thoughts that had hounded him all night. “Happy Satinalia, Ebrisa.”

She took the roll with a small, embarrassed pout. “Thank you.” Ebrisa stared down at the gift for a long while, then looked up at Cullen. There were no lingering glances on his exposed chest this time and she gulped down a very obvious breath as Cullen leaned against his desk. She took advantage of his shortened height and pressed a light kiss to his cheek, lingering for a moment after. “Happy Satinalia,” she whispered, her breath caressing his skin like a second kiss.

Before Cullen could respond or even really process what had happened, Ebrisa rushed out of his quarters and down the corridor. He hovered his hand over his cheek, not wanting to actually make contact and taint the sensations Ebrisa had given him. A wide smile pulled across his face as Cullen contemplated giving Ebrisa more baked goods in the future.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The Tranquil no longer needed Ebrisa's supervision or instruction with herbalism. All they required from her now was a list of what to craft and the stores had finally gotten to the point where augmentation drafts could be made. Stamina potions, resistance tonics, and salves for uncommon ailments began to find their way into the crafting directives, but now all Ebrisa had to do was point to a recipe in a book and her new herbalists could make whatever she asked. It was a wonderful feeling to see the Tranquil so adept at something they had been so uncertain of before. Those that showed promise with healing still took lessons twice a week, but for the most part they stayed out in the field with the templars. There had been a few times when a problem arose they could not handle and Ebrisa had to be brought in, but Rylen was much more cautious about her comings and goings within the city now.

Ebrisa was working past the mid-day meal updating the inventory logs of a storeroom, preparing her crafting list for the week, when she heard the door slowly squeak open and closed. She peaked curiously around the shelf and watched as a templar fumbled with a pair of small picks. The armored man stopped before the lyrium cabinet and began working the locks with trembling hands. One of the thin bits of metal snapped, the broken piece falling to the floor, and he slammed a fist against the sealed cabinet in frustration.

“Ser Samson?” Ebrisa called out, stepping away from her work to cautiously approach the man.

He spun around at her voice, relaxing once he recognized her. “Enchanter, ah, pardon.” Samson shook his head, as thought trying to focus. “First Enchanter.”

There were bags under his eyes and a fine sheen of sweat was breaking out over his skin, making Ebrisa frown in concern. “Are you unwell? Should I accompany you to the infirmary?”

“You're a real peach to offer, but no.” Samson pressed his palm against the cabinet, leaning into it. “I just need some of this.”

“Did your corporal not distribute rations this morning?” Ebrisa furrowed her brow in confusion. Surely such a thing would have caused more of a stir.

“No, miss – ah – ma'am, he did. I just need more than the others.” He rolled the now useless picks between his fingers and studied the mage. “See, after so long without it – so many years of pain and suffering – it takes more lyrium to sate me. I need to catch up, as it were, if I'm to be able to function at all.”

“You're certain that is all?” Ebrisa pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, checking for fever and frown still firmly in place. She hummed worriedly and pulled out her keys, taking the lock in hand. “With Starkhaven's templars still here, we need to be careful with our lyrium supply. I can give you a little.” Ebrisa opened the cabinet and pulled out one of the smaller vials used by the Tranquil for rune crafting. It was less than a templar's daily ration, but more than a mouthful.

Samson took the offered lyrium quickly, downing the vial in a swift motion and shaking it afterwords to get every last drop. He let out a long breath as Ebrisa relocked the cabinet, a smile on his lips. “Thank you, First Enchanter. This was all I needed.”

She took the empty vial and set it by her ledger, then turned back to the templar. “We're still going to the infirmary. I want to be certain these symptoms are all cleared up before you return to duty.”

“No need, truly,” Samson sighed in contentment. He grinned at the mage, tilting his head back a little. “Unless you're sweet on me and looking for an excuse to be alone?”

Ebrisa shook her head, amused smile in place. “Ser Samson, in case you failed to notice, we are already very much alone.”

“Raleigh, First Enchanter,” he corrected, still grinning.

She furrowed her brow in confusion, key ring still in hand. “But everyone calls you Samson.”

“My family name,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Knight-Commander Guylian used to call everyone by their family names, so the rest of the Order picked it up. But you, First Enchanter Ebrisa, aren't in the Order. _You_ can call me Raleigh.”

Ebrisa could understand the frustration of having no control over what other people called you, so with a soft smile, she complied with his request. “Very well, Ser Raleigh. Now then, let us go to the infirmary. If you pass out, I fear I won't be able to catch you.”

Samson followed the woman out of the storeroom, taking care to be far enough behind her to see the subtle sway of her hips as she walked. “You never said you weren't sweet on me.”

She laughed lightly as she locked up. “Maker preserve me, it appears your fever persists.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The colder months forced many of the once proud homeless to seek aid from the templars and, with Ebrisa now managing the finances, more temporary housing was set up. It was a little daunting to be in charge of so much money at first, but the enchanter managed to carefully budget out the stipend so that all essentials were taken care of for the quarter. From there, she was able to direct coin to a slush fund for any unexpected expenses that popped up, like a point of contention the magistrates have had with Cullen for some time.

Having reached the end of their patience for trying to reason with the templar, Seneschal Bran wrote to Ebrisa on behalf of the nobility, beseeching the woman to speak with the new knight-commander. Once again, Ebrisa found herself the mediator of other people's issues with Cullen and she wasn't entirely certain how to take that.

Haring was well underway and already Ebrisa was planning a proper celebration for First

Day to make up for Satinalia. It was possible that she could use the upcoming new year as leverage to help her adopted cause and spent the journey from the classroom she'd been using to store her ledgers and paperwork to Cullen's office thinking up more points. She found that she agreed with the nobility quite easily, which was good, as she very well wouldn't try to convince Cullen to do something he didn't want to if she didn't want him to do it either.

“Do you have a moment?” Ebrisa called from the corridor, gripping the door frame and leaning into it just a little.

Cullen glanced up from the report Knight-Captain Barclay had just given him, breaking into a small smile at seeing the mage. He nodded to Barclay in way of a dismissal and the older man saluted silently before walking past the woman and leaving. “You've crossed the Gallows for just a moment of my time? I would not think my company so worthy of the effort.”

She frowned at his self-directed slight, but entered his office anyways. “More than worthy, but I fear this visit is purely diplomatic. I have been enlisted by the city keep to help you see sense, as they have apparently been trying to do for over a month.”

A moment of silence passed, then an annoyed groan as Cullen understood her mission. “Maker's Breath, I do _not_ need new armor! This set has served me perfectly well and will continue to do so.”

“Its the armor of a soldier.”

“I _am_ a soldier,” Cullen grunted, irritated to be having the conversation yet again.

“No, you're a commander. You're a leader.” Ebrisa set a hand on her hip, waving the other to the still sitting man. “Nothing about your uniform sets you apart from the other templars.”

“As well it shouldn't. I am as much a templar as any of them.”

Ebrisa folded her arms, a sigh passing her lips. “I am not contesting that, but you need to look different from the others. People need to know at a glance that you are in charge.”

Cullen scoffed at the comment. “Everyone knows I'm in charge.”

“Do they? How often have you been addressed as _knight-captain_ since your appointment?”

He shifted slightly in his seat, recalling the many instances from both templars and people in the city. “It has only been a couple of months. It will take time to adjust.”

Ebrisa shook her head, gripping her arms firmer. “So long as you wear that armor, people will still see you as the knight-captain, still think of you as Meredith's second.” She looked up and tried to hold his gaze, tried to make him understand. “You need to make a break from her shadow if Kirkwall is ever to recover.”

“Its a waste of coin,” Cullen argued, though he knew it was a bad point to try and make with the person who actually handled the money.

“Its a perfectly justified expense,” Ebrisa calmly replied, mouth curling into a smile as she sensed the man waver. “What are we even talking about here? A new breastplate and perhaps different gauntlets? Surely that won't drain the coffers.”

“If its such a small change, then why do it at all?” Cullen grumbled.

The woman dropped her arms and moved closer to the desk. “Because even a small change matters. Because people have to know that there _are_ changes.” Ebrisa planted her palms on the wooden surface and leaned forward, expression serious, yet soft. “A lot of things happened this year and most of them were terrible. We can never begin to forget them, no one expects us to, but we can embrace change. We can move forward in the new year with new convictions and new direction and maybe, just maybe, we can get Kirkwall back on its feet.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, but the action was undermined by the smile on his face. “All because of a change in armor?”

“All because of a symbol of change.”

He shook his head, then sighed in defeat. “Very well, but I have one condition.”  
Ebrisa brightened, delighted to have made so much progress with only one discussion. Perhaps the nobles had worn him down more than they thought. “What is it?”

“If I'm to dress as a knight-commander,” he began, leaning forward and folding his arms on his desk, “then you are to dress as a first enchanter.”

She flushed, leaning in a bit more. “It's not the same thing,” she huffed.

“It very much is,” Cullen shot back with a smirk. “How many people have called you _first enchanter_ since your appointment? I am nearly certain its less than the number of people calling me by my old title.”

“But that...” Ebrisa mumbled.

“What? Doesn't matter? Ebrisa, you deserve just as much respect for your position as I do mine.” He rested against the back of his chair once again. “And shouldn't people see you as an individual instead of a faceless mage?” Ebrisa understood the point he was trying to make. If others recognized her as the first enchanter, then they would be less likely to heap all of their fears, anger, and hatred onto her for what happened.

With a long, resigned sigh, Ebrisa agreed to his single term.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, Cullen? See what happens when you share? Good boys get kisses from nice girls.


	7. New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9:38 Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this blog! They put a lot of thought into their posts and I pull story menu inspirations from here [Dragon Age Recipes](https://dragonagerecipes.tumblr.com)

The first meal of the first day of the year was accompanied by a spiced cider to warm up the Gallows residents from a frigid night of sleep, lunch ended with mini apple tarts to give them an energy boost to get through the rest of the day, and as supper drew closer the templars and Tranquil wondered what they would find in the dining hall. The kitchens had been working practically all day and the smell of meat and butter permeated the corridors until it was time for the final meal.

Cullen tugged at his gloves yet again, feeling both foolish in and delighted by his new armor. A proper cuirass – not a breastplate held on by overlapping straps in the back like before – was a great improvement and still proudly displayed the sigil of the templars on its front while the gorget remained much the same with the small addition of a bright bronze inlay of the Chantry's sunburst pattern. The pauldrons were rounded with a gardbrace on the left side, allowing Cullen morerange of motion and added protection on his shield arm. Instead of gauntlets and strapped on couters, the new knight-commander took a cue from the old one and wore engraved full vambraces and leather gloves to better handle the amount of writing he now had to do. Under it all, the red and grey armor padding was replaced with sturdy brown hide while the lower half of the uniform remained the same as it always had been with one exception – a thick belt secured Cullen's longsword to his hip for better access.

Ebrisa, not wanting to bother a proper seamstress for something she was certain no one outside the Gallows would be seeing, looked to Orsino's old robes after several thorough washings. The difference in their body shapes was immediately apparent to the woman and all she was able to salvage after a few alterations was the hooded half-jacket. She wanted to stay as close to a uniform as possible, so after a few messages passed along by Sebastian, Ebrisa was given consent by the lone mother in Kirkwall to wear the same robes the clergy and Tranquil did. She wore the red, sleeveless robes with its sunburst pattern at the hem and the black waist cinch as normal, but the pale yellow sash she unfurled and wore like an overskirt from her enchanter robes. It was secured in place by the smaller, red sash and she donned the armbands without the gloves before slipping on the first enchanter short jacket.

Cullen, despite the lack of sharp angles, somehow looked more fierce and intimidating than before. Maybe it was the shine of the new armor, but more likely it was due to the fact that every imposing inch of the man was his own and not exaggerated by bulky pauldrons. Ebrisa's hair had to be piled up in a braided bun so she wouldn't constantly be fighting with the hood and the style gave her a much more mature appearance. The two of them standing side by side in the somewhat matching uniforms of their new stations demanded attention and respect, and that was what everyone gave the leaders of their home when they saw them for the first time that year as the dining hall opened its doors.

Ebrisa and Cullen stood near the food line, thanking everyone as they approached for all their hard work and understanding over the past year. In between groups of diners, the two of them shared short bits of conversation while they awaited the rest.

“You seem pleased with your new armor,” Ebrisa noted with a smile. “Do you feel foolish for fighting so many people on it?”

Cullen shot her a small smile of his own in return. “If I'd known I was allowed to make the changes myself, then perhaps I wouldn't have argued at all.”

“You chose well, Knight-Commander. You look rather impressive.”

“You say that to me an awful lot.” He smirked as she bit back a laugh, her shoulders shaking with the muffled action.

“Then I suppose it must be true.”

More people came in, more thanks and nods and salutes, and then all of a sudden someone released a disappointed whine.

“What?” Garret huffed as he approached. “No music this time? I thought it was going to be a holiday tradition!”

“Oh, well,” Ebrisa ducked her head and frowned lightly. “I was helping in the kitchen and my hands still feel coated in butter from all those pies. I didn't want to run the risk of damaging the harp strings.” Garret pouted, but nodded in understanding and picked up a tray.

“What pies?” Carver asked, glancing down the line past the cabbage soup and root vegetable fritters.

“Meat pies and fish pies,” Ebrisa explained. She brought her fingers closer to her face and frowned a little. “I think I still have pastry underneath my nails from working on all of those.”

“Fish pie?” Carver pulled a face. “That's not exactly traditional.”

“No,” Ebrisa relented, “but I thought it might be nice to give our visiting templars a taste of home. Lord Sebastian gave me the recipe, so its as authentic as I could make it considering I needed to use salt-water trout instead of importing fish from the Minanter River.”

Carver moved on, but Samson picked up the conversation where the other man left it. “You made Starkhaven fish and egg pie?” Ebrisa nodded and the templar grinned widely. “Did you know that's my favorite dish?”

The woman shook her head, amused by the level of excitement Samson was displaying. “And how was I supposed to know that, Ser Raleigh?”

He leaned in a little and nudged Ebrisa's arm with his elbow. “Careful now, First Enchanter. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

Ebrisa pulled back slightly and laughed awkwardly. “Yes, well, I'll try to keep that in mind.”

Samson smirked, then nodded to Cullen. “Evening, Knight-Commander.”

Cullen nodded in reply, but clenched his jaw and fixed the man with a pointed look. Samson straightened and quickly moved down the line. After a dozen more people passed, there was another small break and Cullen instantly jumped on it with a slight edge in his voice. “ _Ser Raleigh_ , is it?”

“Its his name,” Ebrisa responded calmly, looking up at Cullen and trying to understand his tone.

“I _know_ its his name. I shared a bunk with the man when I first transferred,” Cullen snapped. “What I am wondering is why you are addressing him as such.”

“Because I'm not part of the Order and he asked me to?” The woman furrowed her brow in confusion and tilted her head. “Is... that a problem?”

Cullen cleared his throat and rested his hands on the hilt of his sword, realizing he was acting childish and that Samson's words likely weren't as flirtatious as he thought. “No, I just didn't realize you were taking requests.” He looked down at the tiled floor, then up to the door, and finally back to the woman at his side. “Might I request you don't address me by title?”

“Wha...” All of the air in her lungs left with the partial word and it took a moment to get enough back in to speak again. “Knight-Commander, I- I do not wish to be disrespectful. Your position is one of great importance and to address you so casually would undermine your authority.”

“Not if it comes from you,” Cullen quietly retorted. A beat passed and Ebrisa felt her heart still as it absorbed the words. “You are first enchanter, Ebrisa. You are my equal, not my subordinate.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, trying to not sound so terribly disappointed.

“Meredith and Orsino called one another by name all the time to no ill effect, despite hating each other,” Cullen continued. “And we certainly do not hate each other.” He smirked, despite himself, and the warm action brought a smile back to Ebrisa's face.

“No, we certainly do not.” The woman chewed on her bottom lip as she gathered her courage. “Cullen.” The smile he gave her was well worth the awkwardness she had feared.

 

When the dining hall had finally settled, Cullen stepped forward and called for the room's attention, which they gave readily. “It has been a long, hard year filled with trials, battles, and bloodshed. Mistakes were made, lives were lost, and the actions of a few have forever changed us all. The repercussions of what has happened here are rippling out across all of Thedas, for good or ill, and there will be more eyes on us than ever before. The templars are a proud order, but we must be careful to not let that pride blind us from the truth or keep us from doing what is right.”

He paused, allowing his words to sink in. “You have all risen to the occasion and stepped up to do what needs to be done and I know you will continue to do so. All of you are free to leave the Order at any time, but you have not. The reason you are still here is because you understand what it means to be a templar. We are not mere jailors and hunters of dark magic. We are an arm of the Chantry, we are protectors of the people, and we do not abandon duty for selfish gain. I am honored to have been your commander these past few months, and look forward to working with you in this new year as well.”

The room erupted in cheers, salutes, and clapping. Truly a fitting start to a new year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Just as Cullen's armor gave him an air of authority, Ebrisa's change in attire likewise elevated the level of respect she received. Those who had not bothered to learn her name and simply called her _Enchanter_ now had the decency to add _First_ on there as well and some of the younger templars even moved to the side of the corridor as she passed. It was a strange feeling to be suddenly respected just because she looked the part, but what threw her the most was Rylen insisting she use Orsino's old office now that she had adopted all of the first enchanter responsibilities.

Ebrisa refused to kick the man out of the space he had been operating from for months and he refused to allow her to walk back and forth across the Gallows all day to do her work, so they decided to share. Rylen spent most of the day out in the city, leaving the office empty, meaning Ebrisa would have run of the room until the late afternoon when he returned. It took almost an entire week of moving and organizing until the office felt right and in that time the templar noticed something he hadn't before, given the brief interactions the two of them had previously.

 

After completing her work, Ebrisa had taken to going through Orsino's cabinets to find out what else first enchanters were supposed to do. On this afternoon she had found a small, locked chest buried deep in a drawer and set it on the floor to better work at the lock. She tried every key in her set, but after none seemed to work she tugged on the lid in a wain hope that it would pop open.

“That's not going to work,” Rylen pointed out as he strode into the office.

“Ser Rylen!” Ebrisa straightened in surprise, having lost track of time, and smacked her head solidly on the open drawer above her. She hissed and bent back down, holding her hands against the bump.

“Why do you do that?” The man asked slowly, setting his papers on the cleared desk.

“Act clumsily?” Ebrisa sucked in a breath and rubbed at the diminishing pain. “I haven't the foggiest.”

“Act nothing, First Enchanter. You are what you are.” He turned back to her, ignoring the mild frown she had in place from the teasing slight. “Why don't you call me _Knight-Captain_? You do know that's my rank, right?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Ebrisa stood up fully, careful to avoid the drawer this time. “Apologies, Captain Rylen. I did not mean to offend.”

He squinted at her as she pushed the open drawer flush against the rest of the cabinet, noting she still wasn't using the proper title. “Have you seen the knight-commander's second around? I've got something for him.”

The woman hummed quietly as she thought. “I believe Ser Barclay was to overlook some records with Serrah Teryn this afternoon, so the library would be a good place to look.”

“So it's not just me,” he mused curiously. “You don't call him _knight-captain_ either.”

Ebrisa stilled, darting her eyes around as she tried to figure out how to respond. “Well, uh, he's only been in the position for a few months. I suppose I am still adjusting.”

“Then why not call him Knight-Lieutenant Barclay?”

“I... um...” She cleared her throat and tried to keep her eyes focused on the locked chest, but they flicked upwards towards Cullen's office momentarily.

Rylen folded his arms, studying the woman's nervous fidgeting and how her skin flushed as she glanced at the room across the corridor. “So you still associate the title with Cullen, despite him moving up in rank?”

Ebrisa turned sharply to the tattooed man. “I- I... um... well...” She coughed into her hand and turned quickly to the window. “Cullen had been knight-captain since I arrived here. It is, admittedly, difficult to call someone else that after so many years of only saying it to one man.”

“That makes sense.” Rylen moved around the desk and sat down heavily in the chair. “You can't address us that way because we aren't him.” He looked at the woman, locking eyes with her and freezing her in place. “We aren't _your_ knight-captain.” Rylen kept his eyes on her for a long time, watching the blush bloom across her cheeks and her eyes widen in panic. Finally, he smirked and turned his attention to the papers he'd brought in with him. “Not to worry, First Enchanter. No one will hear about it from me.”

Ebrisa released the breath she had been holding and pressed a hand against her chest, willing her pounding heart to calm. After regaining control, the woman eyed Rylen cautiously. “Might I ask why?”

“Like I said before: got to protect our one mage,” he responded without looking up. “Now then, weren't you trying to act the rogue with that box?”

“Oh,” Ebrisa gasped, having completely forgotten about the strange chest. “It was with Orsino's things, but none of his keys worked. There was no ward on the chest, so I thought maybe I could get it open with brute force.”

“Didn't think you capable of brute force,” Rylen replied coolly, missing or ignoring her frown once again. “If your old first enchanter had something he wanted to hide, do you really think he'd just leave the key where anyone could get to it?”

That was a fair point. Now that she thought about it, Orsino did have his keys taken away early in the year, so it made no sense for the one she needed to be out in the open. In all likelihood, the key was on his person when he was killed. Asking someone to smash open the chest could result in the mysterious contents being damaged, so if Ebrisa really wanted to find out what was inside, she'd have to employ a true rogue instead of playing one herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They aren't doodles, but here's what Cullen and Ebrisa look like in their new uniforms. Click for full size.
> 
>  [](https://tokutenshi.tumblr.com/image/161124135697)
> 
> [ ](https://tokutenshi.tumblr.com/image/161688933157)


	8. Unlocked

Fearing to spread more rumors about the previous first enchanter, Ebrisa kept the chest a relative secret. After Sebastian admitted his skills were honed towards balance and accuracy, Ebrisa was forced to look outside the Gallows for the assistance she required. Luckily, she knew a few people who had focused on the less noble aspects of rogue training.

An impressed whistle pulled Ebrisa's attention away from the Ansberg correspondence and had her straightening in her chair. Isabela and Merrill stood in the doorway, a pleased smirk on the pirate's face and a hard to read expression on the elf's. Ebrisa rose from the desk to greet them, holding out her hand in invitation. “Captain Isabela, you came so quickly.”

Isabela snickered as she walked into the room. “Funny, I usually don't have that problem.” She chuckled at the puzzled expression she got in reply. “But yes, here I am. Could hardly ignore a summons from the first enchanter.”

“It wasn't a summons, it was a humble request for assistance,” Ebrisa mumbled, walking around the desk. “None of you have come to the Gallows since the annulment, so I wasn't even certain if you would respond.”

“I'm offended you have so little faith in me.” Isabela huffed and folded her arms. “I've been a little busy, but you know where we live, too. Visits can go both ways, puppy love.”

Ebrisa lowered her eyes and rubbed her forehead where that first angry rock had struck her the year before. “I'm not exactly welcome in the city as of late.”

The pirate snorted and flipped a hand in the air. “If I stayed away from every place I wasn't welcomed, then I'd never go anywhere.” She was joking, but the comment still drew a concerned frown from the enchanter. Eager to banish the look before she was forced to dwell on how true it might actually be, Isabela wiggled her fingers in the air. “Now then, you said you had desperate need of my talented digits? That is something I do enjoy hearing.”

The blonde nodded and closed the door for privacy, earning an intrigued brow raise from the rogue. Ebrisa removed the locked chest from its hiding place and set it on the desk, motioning to it as she spoke. “This was Orsino's but none of the keys I have opened it and I need to know what's inside. As first enchanter, it is my duty to review the actions of my predecessor.”

Isabela smirked and pulled out her lock picks. “Duty, nothing. You're just curious.” Ebrisa averted her eyes and blushed slightly, making the rogue laugh loudly. “I knew it.”

As the Rivaini inspected the lock and began to work, Ebrisa turned her attention to the so far silent elf. “Haren Merrill, are you alright? Has someone mistreated-”

Merrill wrapped her arms around Ebrisa in a sudden, crushing hug, pressing her cheek against the other woman's. “You look so healthy! Thank Mythal.” She pulled back and wiped at her eyes, removing the tears before they could do more than bubble up. “Have you been eating properly? Do you get enough rest? How are you feeling?”

Ebrisa smiled at the rush of questions and the obvious concern from the other mage. “Things have greatly improved since you were last here, I assure you.”

“I should hope so!” Merrill began counting on her fingers as she stared up at the ceiling. “Chantry exploded, abominations in the streets, mages slaughtered, Meredith running you...” She stopped suddenly, as though remembering something important, and tore off Ebrisa's jacket before the enchanter even knew what was going on. “How is it? Are you still in pain? I need to see!”

“Haren Merrill, what are you _doing_?” Ebrisa tried to push the other mage away, but the elf kept ducking and tugging off the sashes.

“I need to see it, da'len,” Merrill insisted with panic underlying her voice. Her nimble fingers made quick work of Ebrisa's fastenings and she pushed the robe off the enchanter's shoulders despite the amount of struggling she was putting up.

“Stop it!” Ebrisa shrieked, fighting to pull her clothing back on as Merrill tugged it lower down her torso.

The door swung open behind her, the voice that accompanied it freezing Ebrisa as much as the sudden exposure. “Ebrisa, is everything-” Cullen paused, hand still on the handle as he likewise froze in place. Merrill was standing at Ebrisa's side, trying to shove the clothes off while the armholes were still securely caught around the enchanter's elbows. Ebrisa's back was completely exposed, save the strap of her breast band, and the red fabric of her robes bunched low on her hips.

“Cullen, come on in!” Isabela called from her perch on the desk, making a large beckoning motion with her hand. “I promise that the view is _much_ better from this angle.” She grinned widely as both blondes facing her grew matching shades of red and became equally flustered.

Unable to respond, but somehow able to move, Cullen backed out of the room and slammed the door shut with just as much urgency as he'd opened it with.

As Ebrisa stood stock still, mortified by what had just happened, Merrill turned her attention back to her goal. She gently brushed her fingers along the wide, pink and red scar running down Ebrisa's abdomen, making quiet, mournful noises. Merrill stepped around the other mage to likewise examine her back, finding the entry wound much worse with jagged splits in the stretched scar that made memories flood the elf's mind.

“Da'len,” she murmured. “Are you truly alright? This... it doesn't hurt anymore, does it?”

Ebrisa tried to smile to ease the concern, but her own disgust at her appearance made it difficult. “It looks a lot worse than it is. No one knew how to do stitches or which salves to use, so the wound didn't heal very neatly.” She forced out a small laugh and tugged her robe back onto her shoulders. “I've taken care of that, so the next time someone gets run through with a greatsword, the Tranquil will be able to assist properly.”

“But, it _is_ healed?” Merrill stepped in front of her, holding the short jacket she had hastily torn off earlier. “You're sure?”

The enchanter nodded and fastened the final button before reaching out for her jacket. “Yes, Haren Merrill. It is healed, I promise.” The mages shared a quiet look of understanding before Merrill ducked her head away, embarrassed for her brash behavior.

“Well, now that kitten exposed your chest, I guess I should let you know I've opened this one.” Isabela patted the lid proudly. “Let's see if its contents are just as impressive, shall we?”

Ebrisa nodded with a blush and secured her jacket, moving back to the desk. “Thank you, Captain Isabela. Let me know what I can do to repay your efforts.”

Isabela hummed, tapping a finger to her chin. “Well, as much as I'd like a boon from the first enchanter, I think that little show I was just treated to was more than adequate.”

The lid to the chest opened with a muted creak before thudding against the desk as Ebrisa pushed it back to reveal the concealed contents. A few books written in languages Ebrisa couldn't read, several notebooks, and sheets upon sheets of words that made no sense at first glance. Flipping open a notebook, Ebrisa read one of the entries out loud.

“ _Used quicklime to preserve her feet. Unsure whether texture of the skin is to my liking. Will try other methods._ ” She set it down and picked up the loose sheets, realizing after a longer examination that it was a phonetic transcription of another language. The strange words echoed in her head, bouncing around until she heard them mimicked in another person's voice. She'd heard these words before...

“Wh-why did Orsino have this? Why is this here?” Ebrisa dropped the papers, scattering them to the floor, and took several stumbling steps away from the chest.

Merrill picked up one of the sheets, staring at it curiously. “What is it?”

“Quentin,” Ebrisa whispered. “It's Quentin's research. Why did Orsino have Quentin's research?” She tried to calm down, tried to push away the memories and focus on a logical explanation. The papers were locked up and hidden away, so maybe the first enchanter was trying to keep them out of the wrong hands.

“Oh!” Isabela snapped her fingers, remembering something. “Orsino did say something like that right before he turned into that creepy corpse pile monster. That the ritual was Quentin's and he'd set the research aside somewheres.”

“What?” Ebrisa looked at the pirate in disbelief. “He was working with that maleficar?”

Isabela closed an eye and looked up, trying to recall more of the conversation from just before the battle. “Let's see... Hawke called him out, Orsino admitted to knowing all about the man, and then he tried to explain away his silence as not wanting to give Meredith more credence.”

Ebrisa shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Orsino knew? All of those women murdered, and he _knew?_ He did _nothing_?” She paced the office, completely stunned. “Why didn't he turn him in? Quentin was from Starkhaven – he had no connection to the Gallows. Wouldn't assisting in the capture of a vicious maleficar put him in better standing with Meredith? Wouldn't revealing the blood mage help Meredith trust him _more_ , not cast suspicion on us?”

How long did Orsino know about Quentin? How many victims would have been spared if the first enchanter had done his duty? How could he look her right in the eye and profess to be shocked when Ebrisa told him about what she witnessed? How could he smile at her when his silence had put her through all that?!

The enchanter grabbed the chest and threw it to the center of the floor with a crash, Isabela making an annoyed sound of protest. “I spent all that time opening your little box and you just go throwing it around?”

Ebrisa ignored her, betrayal bubbling up inside and morphing into rage. Fire sprang to her hands, white hot and intense.

“Da'len?” Merrill called out cautiously. “What are you doing?'”

“What Orsino should have done,” Ebrisa replied sternly. “I'm destroying this Void-taken research to ensure no one goes through any of that again.”

“No!” Merrill rushed in between the blonde and her target, arms spread wide in an attempt to protect the chest and its contents. “You can't destroy it!”

“Stand aside, Haren,” Ebrisa warned. “I will not condone blood magic to exist in any form in my home.”

The elf shifted a little uncomfortably. “In those notes it explains what Quentin did to you. You need to understand it, to know what it was.”

“I _know_ what he did to me,” the enchanter snapped angrily. “I know what he made me do, what he made me watch, what he would have done to me if Cullen and the others hadn't arrived when they did.” Hot, terrified tears sprang to her eyes. “I remember everything. I can't forget it, no matter how much I try. I thank the Maker every night that Mother is there to keep me from dreaming, for surely if I ever entertained spirits as others do during rest, then I would be plagued by the nightmare of my time under Quentin's control.” Ebrisa's hand trembled and the fire spell wavered. “I know he tainted me...”

“Da'len, please,” Merrill said quietly. “If you study his notes and find the exact spell he used on you, then you can understand how far his reach truly goes. You can know once and for all if he has done anything else to you, if you're safe from him.”

Ebrisa stared at the other mage, completely shocked. “Are you saying... you want me to study blood magic?”

The elf averted her eyes, choosing her words very carefully. “Knowing exactly what happened to you, _how_ you were controlled, will grant you peace of mind. People often fear what they do not understand.”

“I do not fear blood magic, I abhor it!” Ebrisa finally dropped her spell, suddenly looking far too tired for being so early in the day. “Blood magic destroyed the transfer caravan, blood magic killed Leandra Hawke, blood magic made me a slave, blood magic poisoned Edan, blood magic corrupted Orsino and lead to the Circle's fall.” She took a deep breath and released a drawn out sigh. “What good can possibly come from learning more about blood magic? What good has it _ever_ done?”

Merrill was silent, wondering how much she should reveal. “What if,” she began slowly. “What if Quentin's spell on you never went away?”

Ebrisa turned to her sharply with sheet-white skin, eyes wide in panic, and the elf regretted having said anything. “But, he's dead...”

“He is,” Merrill confirmed, “but you were blocked from all magic when he passed, weren't you? What if that prevented his spell from going away and it only went dormant instead?”

“Th-that can happen?”

“Yes, and the only way we can know for sure if you are free is if you study Quentin's notes.”

Ebrisa looked past the elf to the split chest on the floor with great trepidation. “I don't want any part of blood magic...”

“Da'len,” Merrill softly soothed, placing a hand on the blonde's cheek. “I'm afraid that it is _already_ a part of you.” Ebrisa's face twisted into revulsion as she looked down at herself, tears welling up in her eyes once again, and Merrill felt more than a pang of guilt. “I am so sorry...”

“I... I think the Nevarran was only for the reanimation,” Ebrisa mumbled, “but I will have to learn Tevene before I can even think about reading any of that...” The idea of studying blood magic visibly nauseated the mage, but she quietly gathered up Quentin's research with shaking hands and shoved it back into the cabinet she retrieved it from earlier.

Through the entire exchange, Isabela had hung back and let the mages talk. When they left Ebrisa's office, she remained quiet. It wasn't until Isabela and Merrill were across the harbor and well on their way to Hightown that the pirate finally broke her silence. “Kitten? What are you keeping from us?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one pissed at Orsino? He only really admits to knowing about Quentin if you side with the templars, so it could be misunderstood that he was only safeguarding the research that was brought in from his lair, unless you paid attention to the notes in act 2. By the books on necromancy that came from the Circle, there is a message that says something along the lines of "I'm intrigued and looking forward to your results" and its signed by "O". Most notes in-game are signed only by initials, but who do we know that starts with O and would have had access to the restricted sections of the library, so they could sneak out books? Orsino.   
> People often go on about how terrible Meredith was, but he was no innocent either.


	9. Private Concert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fathers' Day to any and all papas that might stumble on this!
> 
> Now then, you guys may want to cue up this video for some musical reference in this chapter.  
> [ Rogue Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLTeHQ2LIy4)

For the first time, Cullen was glad for the constant onslaught of work. Whenever he had no task to occupy his mind, he was tortured by two very similar and very different images. The first was of Ebrisa and Sebastian dancing on Satinalia, of them smiling at each other as they moved without music. The memory made Cullen burn with a jealous anger and sink into a resigned despair, the conflicting emotions amplifying each other instead of canceling one another out.

The second image that haunted him made Cullen burn too, but in a completely different way: Ebrisa in her office, half dressed. Each time the vision came to mind – and he did think it a vision – the man felt more enraptured than he had the time before, every occurrence focusing on a new detail. The wisps of golden curls at her nape, the dip from her elegant neck to her raised shoulders, the graceful line of her spine, the swell of her hips, and the faintest glimpse of her smalls from just above her bunched robes. He wanted to caress her curves like the light from the window had, wanted to wrap his arms around her in place of her partially discarded robes, wanted to press her against him without any robes there at all. Cullen wanted to explore every inch of Ebrisa's back with his hands and mouth like his eyes had done.

Every inch, including the scar.

He had not seen the damage Meredith had done to the enchanter bare before, having recovered slightly on another cot in the infirmary while Merrill and Sebastian disrobed Ebrisa and dressed the still open wound directly. It was a terrible scar, but Cullen wanted to cover it in gentle, thankful kisses. He had almost lost her, was almost trapped in a spiral of denial and doubt about his feelings for her, and the marred flesh Ebrisa bore would serve as a reminder of that night. It was a physical testament of how much he loved her, of what he would do for her, just as his much smaller scar was.

The spirit had taken all the energy she deemed safe from Cullen and it had not been near enough to fully mend the damage Meredith had caused. The fact that he felt so frail after the procedure and there was still much of the wound left open and bleeding spoke volumes of its severity. Maybe, to save Ebrisa and fully remove all evidence of the attack, it would have taken his very life. The idea uneased him greatly and each time it sprang to mind Cullen could feel his own, refusing to fade, scar throb and itch.

Dwelling on either image for too long greatly affected Cullen in different ways, but both left him irritable around others, so he tried to keep the memories from taking root at all. He was so desperate for additional work that the knight-commander didn't dwell on it when Garret approached him with a rather odd sounding report.

The cold had pushed Leopold underground and Ebrisa placed some fire runes in one of the caverns for warmth. The woman had been spending a lot of her free time down there to keep the wyvern company and, apparently, discovered some troubling cracks that she wanted to bring to Cullen's attention. He didn't wonder why Ebrisa would call for him instead of a miner or mason that could properly identify or correct the cracks, and simply gathered up a few supplies to make observations with before heading down to the tunnels.

He felt the warmth of the cavern as he drew near, understanding the cold-blooded creature's appreciation for it instantly, and slowed his pace as music drifted in from around the bend. Cullen knew Ebrisa often played for the wyvern, but he had never witnessed it himself. In fact, now that he thought about it, he hadn't heard her play much of anything on that Dalish harp of hers for no fault of her own. Just like she had for Satinalia, Ebrisa put on a small concert for Wintersend, and just like _he_ had for Satinalia, Cullen didn't stay in the dining hall for long.

At the very end of the tunnel, right as he was about to step into the cavern, Ebrisa began to sing and Cullen stopped in his tracks.

_“You steal my breath_

_with but a brush of your hand,_

_Lost in the depths_

_of your haunted eyes._

_My heart is aching,_

_longing when you're near._

_My heart is breaking_

_when you are not here.”_

It was a love song. Cullen wasn't very familiar with the genre himself, but something about this one seemed... different from what few he had heard. The pacing or structure, something about the words just made it stand out and stick with him.

_“You make me blessed_

_each time you speak my name,_

_Voice a caress_

_upon my starving soul._

_My love has consumed_

_every thought I've known._

_My love in full bloom,_

_rarest flower I've grown.”_  
The music picked up and Ebrisa turned to the harp with half-lidded eyes, needing the extra focus for the trickier portion in the score. A brief flash of panic hit Cullen, fearing she would see him and stop playing. The song felt personal, intimate, and Cullen was beginning to feel he was intruding.  

_“O Love, hear me._

_I've never dreamt_

_that I could feel this way._

_My heart is shaking,_

_filled with unknowns and fear._

_My heart is awaking,_

_its purpose finally clear.”_  
There was a nervous tremble in her voice, despite – as far as she knew – only having the wyvern as an audience.

_“My love for you:_

_boundless.”_

It slowed once again, returning to the same structure of notes it had begun with and Cullen realized Ebrisa was playing it with someone in mind, and it obviously wasn't Leopold.

_“In song confess_

_the words I cannot say...”_

Ebrisa's voice echoed around the cavern as she finished, the distorted words bouncing mockingly as she slumped against the harp's frame and sighed heavily. “I can't say it, but I can't sing it either if he's never around when I try to perform the dumb thing,” she mumbled dejectedly.

Leopold shifted at her side, turning his head to regard the mage, but suddenly tensed as his good eye caught sight of the templar. Cullen tensed in response at being caught, but quickly moved into the cavern as though he had never stopped walking in the first place.

“Cullen,” Ebrisa breathed as her face flushed. She straightened, trying to distance herself from the harp as much as possible without tossing it aside or getting up. “Were you listening? Di-did you hear me?” There was a jumble of emotions in her voice, but it was the panic that made her squeak and that's what Cullen focused on.

“Well,” he stalled, rubbing at his neck and glancing away. It was clear Ebrisa had not intended to be overheard, or else she wouldn't be so nervous now. “I could certainly hear music and singing, but the echos made the words undecipherable, I'm afraid.” He dropped his hand and looked back to the woman now that his lying had ended. “What I did hear sounded lovely, though unfamiliar. Is it an Ostwick song?”

She tapped a finger against the engraved soundbox, reddened cheeks slowly returning to normal. “It was composed by an Ostwick native, yes.”

“I haven't heard you sing much beyond Chantry tunes,” Cullen continued with a small smile. “If I'd known you had such a repertoire, I would have assigned myself to those escort assignments when you put on little concerts for this one.” He motioned his head to Leopold, then turned fully to regard the wyvern. “Monopolizing her talents, I see.”

Leopold let out a small, growling huff, then returned to his previous relaxed position and settled in for a nap.

Ebrisa laughed softly at the exchange, setting the harp aside. Cullen offered her a hand and she accepted, rising from the floor smoothly and standing barely a foot apart. She kept her hand in his and sheepishly met his eyes, watching him carefully as her proximity began to wear down his composure. Ebrisa dropped her gaze, settling on the writing board in his other hand.

“Do you need me?” She asked softly.

“Yes,” Cullen whispered, the longing tone in his voice snapping Ebrisa's gaze back to his once again in surprise. He dropped her hand and rubbed his own over his eyes, mentally cursing himself. “I mean, no. Didn't you have some foundation concerns? Cracks you wanted to show me?”

The woman took a step back, running a curious eye around the cavern. “Not that I'm aware of...”

“Ser Garret had said...” Cullen trailed off, realizing the problem. “Right. Should have known better than to fall for that.” He turned around to head back for his office, wondering what sort of prank the bearded templar had constructed in his absence and how severe a punishment it would earn him.

“Oh, but-” Ebrisa called after him, cutting herself off and worrying her bottom lip as if unsure whether she should continue with her line of thought. “I... I did have something I wanted to discuss with you...”

Cullen faced her once again, waiting patiently for her to continue.

She took a calming breath, then another, and finally nodded her head. “Last month, I discovered something disturbing with Orsino's things. There were books and notes... belonging to the Kirkwall Killer.”

“What?” He stepped closer, uncertain he had heard correctly. “We confiscated every book and scrap of writing in that maleficar's lair. I was certain it was all destroyed.”

“It should have been!” Ebrisa quickly responded, clearly unnerved. After a moment, she calmed herself enough to continue. “Orsino must have bribed someone or falsified paperwork to keep it, I don't know for certain. The point is... Quentin's research is in my office.”

“You have it?” Cullen worked very hard to keep the relief from his voice, trying to act as though he didn't know anything about the lingering blood magic inside her.

She nodded slowly, bringing in her arms to hold herself. “I wanted to burn it all, but Haren Merrill stopped me. She... she said... I could still be under his spell. She... wants me to study the research to look for that spell, so it can be reversed. I don't think I can.”

“Why not?” Cullen furrowed his brow, frowning slightly at Ebrisa's lack of concern for herself. “Isn't it best to be rid of the spell once and for all?”

“Cullen, its blood magic!” Ebrisa stared at him incredulously. “When he cast it, Quentin slaughtered a woman right in front of me and used every spec of her life force to bind me to his will! If that's what it takes to remove the curse inside me, than I would rather be struck down this very instant!”

He grabbed hold of her shoulders, dropping the writing board with a clack and fixing her with a stern gaze. “Don't you say that. Don't you _ever_ say something like that! Death should never be the first option, Ebrisa.” He had scared her, but she needed to understand. “Your life is not worth less than another's. You would leave a void behind if you died, especially like that. Please, do not speak that way.”

Ebrisa nodded numbly in at least partial understanding. “But I... I can not condone blood magic, for my sake or others. If that's the only way to be free of this... _corruption_ inside me... Cullen, I just can't.”

Her words hit Cullen hard and made him ill, now knowing for certain that Ebrisa would never approve should she find out what had been done to save her from Meredith's blow. At the time, he had been too frantic, too terrified, to really think about what he was agreeing to, but in the months since Cullen had been able to reflect upon his actions. It was often said that blood magic was a slippery slope, that a small, seemingly innocent spell would only make the mage lust for more power. In a way, that's exactly what happened. Merrill's first use of blood magic that night had essentially been a temporary bandage, keeping Ebrisa's wound from gushing more blood as they waited for Sebastian to get back. It had harmed no one but Merrill and she hadn't asked permission before casting it, but Cullen hadn't tried to stop her either.

When she found Quentin's curse laying dormant, a crushing guilt added to Cullen's fear. In stopping Ebrisa's puppet casting years before, he had basically insured that she would be susceptible to it again, but he'd also created an unintentional loop hole. He had begged for a way to save Ebrisa, and when Merrill suggested further blood magic and summoning spirits, Cullen did not refuse – did not even hesitate – like he had been taught all his life to do.

In his arms lay the woman he loved, and she was dying. She was leaving him without even knowing the frightening level of his feelings for her, and she was tearing out his heart as she did so. No matter how many times he played over the scenario in his mind, Cullen could never let that happen. They had been fortunate that the maleficar who performed the spell was a trusted friend who wanted to save Ebrisa as much as he did. They had been blessed that the spirit who aided them was not only a goodly one, but understood what was going on more than Cullen had and forced him to acknowledge his feelings. If either of those things had been different, Cullen and Ebrisa would be in very different positions than they were now – one or both of them dead or worse.

He was still weary of spirits, still against blood magic, but doubt had wormed its way into his long-held beliefs. Maybe, under certain circumstances, relying on a power beyond your own was acceptable. It was a slippery slope that he would fight against for the rest of his life, but Cullen had already taken the first step down.

Sebastian had been right about Ebrisa's views, but Cullen didn't regret his actions. He had acted against Ebrisa's wishes – he knew that for certain now – but he had acted on the only option he had. He couldn't lose her then, and he couldn't lose her now.

“Who's to say it can only be undone with blood magic?” He began softly, cautiously. “There's more than one way to break a spell, isn't there? So long as you understand it, you can find another method to remove it.” Cullen released his tight grip on the woman, moving his hands to skim along her upper arms until they dropped to his side.

“You want me to learn blood magic too...” Ebrisa whispered, voice uneven and drenched in disbelief. “After everything...”

Cullen was quick to ease her concern. “Not learn, not practice, just study and just this _one_ spell. Knowing how the maleficar enthralled you makes you a maleficar no more than my knowing flour and eggs go into bread makes me a baker.”

She was quiet for a long while, the sound of Leopold's deep breathing the only noise in the cavern. Finally, she met Cullen's eyes once again. “You don't put eggs in bread dough.”

“Are you certain?”

Ebrisa nodded lightly, a small smile tugging on her lips.

“Well then,” Cullen sighed, tossing a hand into the air. “I guess I'm _really_ not a baker.” He returned her smile, thankful to see the curve of her expression after such a heavy conversation. “And trying to find out more about what happened to you – with no intention to even entertain the idea of performing what you learn – doesn't make you a maleficar.”

“Its a bit of a moot point until I can read Tevene anyways, but if you think its for the best, then I will do as you and Haren Merrill ask.” She bent down and picked up the discarded writing board, holding it out for him. “I know you both have my best interest at heart.”

“We do,” Cullen confirmed wholeheartedly, taking the board back. He could only hope Ebrisa would keep this in mind when she learned what else he and Merrill had done for her best interest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its kind of short, but the next chapter will be longer and I promise something good will happen!
> 
> Writing Ebrisa's song took me a while, but then I realized that it was her first song and could be terrible, so I felt far less pressure to make it good and knocked it out. 'Rogue Heart' is one of the DA2 songs that I think gets skipped over and - while not accompanied by a harp - is mostly string, so using it as my base seemed appropriate enough.


	10. Siblings

Winter in the Free Marches was more wet and annoying than the solid, frigid cold Fereldan saw each year. Snow still fell, but the warmer climate made it difficult to stick anywhere except the mountains. Often times people would watch in excitement as a winter storm blew in, only to see it get caught on a peak and dump the bulk of its frozen flakes on the Vimmarks, leaving the coast with little more than flurries.

Despite their hoarding of snow, the mountain passes usually cleared by late Guardian and when they did, Starkhaven's templars were more than eager to use them and return home. Kirkwall was far from restored, but outside forces had done all they could in assisting the injured and displaced and for the people to really recover, they would need to look to each other.

Cullen had delivered a sincere and encouraging speech to the entire Starkhaven group before they began ferrying across the harbor and now stood with Rylen in the entry yard, overseeing the departure. “It will be far quieter without your nonsensical grumbling across the corridor in the evening hours,” Cullen mused, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword. The action had become comfortable and natural, as though the blade had always rested at his side.

Rylen nodded, lip curling in amusement. “And I don't know how I'll ever get any work done without hearing _Maker's Breath_ muttered every half hour.”

The men chuckled to themselves at the lighthearted digs. “We are creatures of habit, it would seem.”

Cullen had grown to not only respect the Starkhaven captain, but come to think of him as a friend and confidant. He had been so standoffish and angry when he first transferred from Fereldan, that Cullen stood little chance of forming any bonds with the other templars. As he moved up in rank, he moved further away from them until they could see him as nothing but an officer and would become rigid in his presence. He had thought nothing of it for years, knowing he was terrible company to keep and not really wanting to keep anyone's company either.

That mindset had changed because of Ebrisa. She was perhaps the first one in the Gallows to see him as a person and her efforts to console him when he thought he'd hidden his displeasure so well made him realize that he didn't like hiding. His subordinates had seen him as an officer, so that was how he acted at all times, but Ebrisa saw him as more than his title, and Cullen longed for others to do the same. It had gotten a little better – _he_ had gotten a little better – but it wasn't until Rylen showed up that Cullen felt he actually had a chance to act like himself with someone in the Circle besides Ebrisa. The two of them being knight-captains helped, but even after Cullen was officially promoted, Rylen treated him the same as he had before. It gave Cullen hope that he could continue to make friends, even as knight-commander.

“Your presence will be sorely missed,” Cullen admitted, no longer entertaining jest in his tone. It was difficult to see his friend go.

Rylen scrubbed a hand across his face, frowning just a little himself. “It certainly has been an entertaining series of months, I won't deny that. If you ever have need of my aid again, do not hesitate to call.” The knight-captain turned to the Fereldan, sly grin on his face. “You might be lamenting my departure now, but I know you've enjoyed the daytime view from your office far more than my evening presence.” He drew his eyes across the yard and Cullen followed their movement until they settled on a pair standing separate from the rest, the commander narrowing his eyes on the taller person.

For months now, Cullen had done his best to avoid Ebrisa and Sebastian when they were together. He took meals in his office, stayed away from the chapel, and made only a brief appearance during the Wintersend festivities. He had no true issue with the archer and acted civilly enough, but seeing the man touching Ebrisa's arm or drawing smiles to her face so openly filled the templar with a jealous rage he could do nothing about.

Because of that, Cullen was overjoyed when he heard Sebastian was returning to Starkhaven with the templars. The prince had formed a bond with the men as he worked along side them and the soldiers relayed stories of how the reigning prince was governing their home. Goran Vael, it seemed, was anything but an adept ruler and the tales of his horrendous policies and struggling foreign relations pushed Sebastian to finally make up his mind to reclaim his birthright.

Cullen was glad to have the archer go, but seeing Ebrisa so terribly distraught now as the two said farewell filled him with shame. They were too far away to hear over the bustle of the exiting templar forces, but the enchanter was clearly crying. She nodded periodically as Sebastian spoke, as though she did not trust herself to say anything, and Cullen could only guess at the sweet words the prince uttered to her.

Sebastian cupped Ebrisa's face and tilted it up to his, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks to wipe at her tears. Still holding her in place, the archer closed his eyes and leaned forward, the action making Cullen tense and switch his hand from resting gently on his sword to firmly gripping the hilt. To the templar's surprise and relief, Sebastian planted a soft kiss to Ebrisa's forehead before releasing her and stepping away.

“Thought so,” Rylen chuckled to himself. Cullen shot the other templar a slightly embarrassed and partially annoyed look, but redirected his focus to the approaching prince and worked hard to keep the torrent of negative emotions in check.

“Knight-Commander Cullen,” Sebastian addressed pleasantly, holding out his left hand and waiting until Cullen stiffly accepted it. “I can not begin to properly thank you for all of your service or the generosity you have shown me personally over these many months. It means little at the moment, but I am in your debt.”

Cullen nodded, griping the archer's forearm a little harder than necessary. “I wish you safety on your journey and luck in your endeavor.”

Sebastian tugged on Cullen's arm, pulling the man into a friendly hug and bringing himself close enough to speak quietly into his ear as he squeezed the concealed scar on the templar's wrist. “I am aware of what you are willing to do to keep Ebrisa safe. Even if I do not agree with your methods, the truth is that she lives because of you. Know this: break her heart, and the Maker Himself will not be able to save you from me.” The archer patted Cullen's back and pulled away with a smile, but his eyes held a deadly promise. “Take care, Knight-Commander.”

“You as well,” he replied coolly, refusing to be intimidated by the threat. Cullen shared a few final words with the others and watched them depart until every Starkhavener was across the harbor and well on their way home. The Gallows residents slowly went back inside, the yard emptying until only the first enchanter and knight-commander remained.

Cullen cautiously made his way over to her, trying to be obvious about his approach so as to not spook the enchanter. She did not shrink away when he came to a stop at her side, but she didn't speak either. He took it as his cue to talk and tried to find the best arrangement of words to use.

“We owe our Starkhaven brothers much,” he began, feeling that discussing the templars was a safe topic. When Ebrisa lowered her reddened eyes and brought a fist to her mouth, he knew he was wrong.

“All that talk at the beginning of the year about change, and here I am, upset by it,” she mumbled against her fingers.

Cullen rubbed at his neck, sweeping his gaze around the yard and clearing his throat. “Because of Sebastian.” He didn't like seeing Ebrisa this way and wanted to ease her sadness, but the fact remained that it was due to her relationship with another man.

“Starkhaven will benefit from his direction. It was the right thing for him to do.” Ebrisa shook her head and dropped her hand. “I know that, but it still.. hurts...”

“The two of you were... very close,” Cullen hesitantly added. Discussing her feelings for someone else was difficult and somewhat painful, but in that moment Ebrisa needed to talk to someone, she needed a friend, and that's what he swore to be.

“I'd gotten so used to him being here. Sharing meals, discussing books, reciting the Chant...” She released a soft, melancholic laugh and stared down at her hands, tracing the edges of her nails with her fingers. “In a strange way, he made it feel more like home and now that he's gone, it's almost like losing my family again.”

That had Cullen watching her with more curiosity, though the concern did not diminish. “Your family?”

“I've told you of my brothers, haven't I?” Ebrisa glanced up from her fiddling, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Federyc is the eldest, very serious, very focused, very devote. Emery was always more... mischievous than the rest of us, but his heart was never in the wrong place. My final years before Mother sent me to the Circle, she kept me very isolated... I didn't even get to say goodbye.”

Leaving his family in Honnleath to join the templars had been very emotional for Cullen, but it had been his dream and they respected his decision. His parents were proud of his dedication to help people, Mia promised to beat up anyone who caused him trouble during training, and Rosalie bawled loudly in hopes that her gurgut tears would make her brother stay. Branson wasn't there when Cullen left, but that morning his brother had spoken with him at the lake and bestowed on him well wishes and a token for good luck. It was difficult to leave, but his family supported him, they knew where he was going, and they had said their farewells.

Ebrisa had been denied those comforts.

“My lord Sebastian spent a lot of time with my brothers during social events,” Ebrisa continued. “He wasn't exactly like he is now, causing trouble and seeking attention, and it was like having a second Emery.” She lifted her right hand and tilted her head towards it. “Imagine my surprise to meet him again years later and finding him more like Federyc.” Her eyes drifted to her other hand, now raised as well. “He's between them in age, and somehow...” Ebrisa wove her fingers together, interlocking her hands. “Somehow, after losing my brothers, I gained a new one that was a combination of the two.”

Cullen tried not to smile, he really did, but a broad grin spread across his face and he lifted a hand to hide it, arranging his fingers over his mouth and chin as though pondering her words. He had been misreading the relationship between the high born pair, assuming the affection they showed one another was romantic in nature. If he had ever been able to stick around long enough to focus on the details of their interactions, than he may have realized his mistake earlier and saved himself a lot of restless nights and silent brooding. Even Sebastian's actions, now that Cullen looked at them without the filter of jealousy, where caring and familial. He replayed the prince's final words to him that day, now hearing the protective, brotherly nature of the threat.

A thought stuck Cullen that wiped the grin from his face immediately. It was no great leap for him to think Ebrisa cared for Sebastian more than she did others, because he saw the way she acted differently around the archer. She smiled more, laughed easier, and touched him without hesitation. These were things that she did for him as well, and Cullen couldn't help but wonder if he was slotted in the same regard. Being seen as a friend was one thing, but marked as a sibling?

“Am I – that is...” Cullen shifted on his feet and studied the open portcullis across the yard, not wanting Ebrisa to see the pained expression on his face as he continued. “Do you recognize any of your brothers' qualities in me?”

A giggle was not the response he expected, but its what the woman gave him all the same.

“You have many fine qualities, Cullen, but nothing about you makes me think of my brothers.” Ebrisa worried on her bottom lip, cheeks flushing as she prepared to continue. “You are unlike any other...”

The smile that broke out across his face this time remained exposed, but faded as he continued to look at the noticeably still upset woman beside him. He rubbed his neck again, feeling guilty for his elation while Ebrisa was mourning the loss of a friend. “Your brothers may not be here, but I hope you still view the Gallows as your home.”

She turned suddenly and pressed a hand against Cullen's cuirass, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Of course I do, Cullen. One person leaving Kirkwall does not change that.” Ebrisa dropped her gaze, as though ashamed by her behavior. “And it's not as though I'll never hear from my lord Sebastian again. He's promised to write and keep me up to date.”

“Don't get enough correspondence for Kirkwall that you seek information of Starkhaven's struggles?” Cullen chuckled, trying to further ease her mood.

“Not about political matters, personal ones. How he's doing, people he's met, things like that.” Ebrisa smiled lightly. “A good sibling keeps in touch.”

Cullen began to nod, then froze with a sudden, horrific realization. “Maker's Breath. I haven't written my sister since before the annulment.” He ran a frantic hand through his growing curls, blanching in panic. “She's going to kill me...”

“Who is? You mean Lady Mia?” Ebrisa removed her hand from his armor and waved it dismissively. “She is well aware of what's been going on with you.”

He snapped his eyes back to the enchanter, focusing on her once again. “She... is?”

Ebrisa nodded. “You were so busy writing to all the other templar families, that I thought you might have forgotten about your own. I sent a short letter to let Lady Mia know you were alive and well.”

“You wrote my sister?” Cullen stared at her in disbelief.

“Several times,” she confirmed with a slight tilt of her head. “She was absolutely beside herself when she learned you were promoted to knight-commander.”

“You wrote my sister.” Cullen continued to stare.

“Yes...?” Ebrisa looked away, rubbing at her forehead. “I knew she would be worried about you. Have I... overstepped?”

He cleared his throat in an attempt to be rid of the uneasy feeling creeping over him. “No, not at all. As we just realized, I have not been a good sibling.”

In truth, Cullen would have been in a far worse situation if Ebrisa hadn't acted without his consent and sent a letter to South Reach. He owed her, but at the same time something didn't seem right. If Mia knew what was going on, then why hadn't she written to him directly after Ebrisa sent the first letter? He would have expected an angry response from his elder sister, berating him for not keeping her informed like the first letter that found him after his transfer, but to hear nothing? For Mia to continue correspondence with Ebrisa and leave him out was curious.

Then again, Mia had always been perceptive – its what made her so difficult to beat in chess. What if she had figured out that Ebrisa was the woman he wrote about a year ago? What had his sister been saying to Ebrisa? A sense of dread washed over the templar as his mind ran through the possibilities and he hoped that, for once in her life, his sister would keep her nose out of his private affairs.

~~~~~~~~~  
After a few weeks passed and the Gallows settled, Cullen worked up the nerve to ask Ebrisa about her continued correspondence with his sister. With her permission, he read the letters she'd received and searched the words for double meanings and leading questions. To his surprise, Mia had been calm and civil, thanking Ebrisa for the updates and sharing a few Fereldan herbal remedies in exchange for some Free Marcher ones. In fact, Mia had not written a single word about Cullen's personal matters and didn't pry for too many details about the first enchanter, having only a few inquires early on that were perfectly sensible to ask a new acquaintance. Mia was acting with only a vague interest, but Cullen knew better.

Convinced that Mia was up to something, Cullen wrote her himself in a letter that was more accusatory than he intended. She responded with just as much bite in her words as he'd put in his, calling him out for still acting like a child when he should be the most responsible person in the Gallows. Mia also thanked Cullen, with as much smugness as could be crammed into the written word, for confirming her suspicions. Like an idiot, he'd fallen into her trap. No, _fallen_ was the wrong word. Cullen had run headlong into Mia's trap.

Her next letter was unprovoked and gentle, speaking fondly and approvingly of Ebrisa and encouraging Cullen to confess to the woman. There was no Meredith to punish them, so why hadn't he said or done anything yet? Mia couldn't understand his hesitance, and frankly, Cullen couldn't blame her.

What was holding him back from telling Ebrisa how he felt? Their duties? The tension across southern Thedas between mages and templars that snowballed after Anders' ill-thought actions? Chantry edict? No, those were all good excuses to tell himself, but deep down Cullen knew the real reason he held his tongue – he was afraid.

It was his fear of losing Ebrisa that sparked the understanding of his feelings, his desperation to keep her near that exposed his love for her. If he confessed to her now and she didn't return his feelings, things would become awkward. She would pull away, distance herself, and he would lose what precious light she brought him now. He wanted to be closer with her, but the very real possibility that attempting to do so would have the opposite effect restrained him.

 

Cullen focused on the reports before him, taking in Karras' updates on the civilian housing project. The knight-lieutenant wasn't the most compassionate man when it came to mages, but he showed a steadfast dedication to helping those harmed by magic and seemed the best choice to oversee the managing of the housing. Cullen flipped to the next page, and a lock of hair fell into his eyes. “Stop that,” he grumbled, pushing the offending curl out of the way and continuing to read.

A small outbreak of cholera in one of the buildings was treated by the Tranquil, but not before an elderly man passed. It was concerning, and Karras requested having the surrounding water supplies checked before others became ill. While the infected could be treated, it was certainly better to prevent them from getting sick in the first place. Cullen would speak with Barclay about rearranging the duty roster to gather a team as soon as possible. He rubbed at the stiffness in his neck, the action knocking loose hair to once again block his vision. “Stop. That.” He shoved his fingers through the annoying strands firmly, pausing and waiting a moment until he was certain everything would stay in place.

Cholera was not the first illness to make the rounds through the housing and Karras had come to the same conclusion Cullen did – there were simply too many people living in too tight quarters. He'd made the offer several times to open the Gallows' doors and house people in the empty Mage Hall, but no one accepted. The hatred and fear was still too intense for Kirkwall's citizens to entertain the idea of walking the same halls that mages had, of sleeping where mages slept. They were desperate, but apparently not _that_ desperate.

Cullen pushed himself away from his desk and left his office, crossing the corridor and pausing to tap a short knock on Ebrisa's open door as he entered. She looked up and smiled, setting her own work aside to give the man her full attention. “Something I can help with?”

“Yes, in a way,” Cullen began as he moved towards her desk. “I was wondering when we could afford to organize another housing set up. The current buildings are simply too cramped to maintain a healthy environment anymore.”

She hummed in concern, already aware of the bouts of sickness that had run through the displaced citizens. “We can certainly set up a new location, but maintaining it is another issue. With our current funds, we'd be just a little short... but perhaps if we weren't reliant solely on the Chantry for financial support?”

A defiant, straw colored clump flopped down and Cullen glared at it.

“Do you think we could-”

“Stop that!” Cullen growled, raking his hands repeatedly through his hair in frustration.

“I hadn't done anything yet...” Ebrisa mumbled, pressing back into her chair.

He snapped his eyes to the slightly pouting enchanter, realizing how his actions could be interpreted. “Oh, no, not you, Ebrisa,” he rushed out, waving a hand dismissively. “My Maker-forsaken hair just seems intent on blocking my vision today.”

“It has gotten rather long,” Ebrisa agreed. “Why haven't you gotten it cut recently?”

Cullen sighed tiredly, motioning to his office. “I've been a little too busy to waste time on a frivolous personal matter like that. It hadn't truly been an issue until today.”

She nodded, looking over the unruly curls thoughtfully before pointing to the bench along the wall and opening a desk drawer. “Sit down, I think I have a solution.”

Cullen dropped onto the planked seat and watched curiously as the woman came around her desk with a short jar in her hands. She opened the lid and scooped some of the contents up with her fingers before setting the jar on the bench beside Cullen. He looked down at the container, furrowing his brow in confusion as he tried to identify the substance within. “What is that?”

She rubbed the glossy matter between her hands, smirking playfully. “Why? Don't you trust me?”

He returned his focus to the woman standing directly in front of him and raised a brow. “Implicitly, First Enchanter, but I'd still like to know what your solution is.”

“Its pomade,” Ebrisa finally identified, slipping her hands into Cullen's hair. “Beeswax, oakmoss oil, arrowroot powder, and some lavender fragrance. When I started keeping my hair up all day, I kept getting wisps breaking free and tickling my neck. It was quite distracting.”

Cullen gave a short hum, only half-listening as Ebrisa ran her fingers through his hair and stifling further noises when her nails dragged across his scalp. She was so close to him, it would be so easy to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her down to his level. She was touching him, surrounding him, driving him mad, and she didn't even realize it.

“A little of this keeps my flyaways to a minimum, and for _you_ I think more just... might...” Ebrisa took a step back to better inspect her work. “That should hold for a while. There's a mirror by the door, if you want to see.”

It took a moment for Cullen to regain his senses, and when he did the man quickly climbed to his feet. Ebrisa had barely touched him and he was easily reduced to putty in her hands. It was embarrassing, but that didn't stop him from wanting it to happen again. He moved over to the mirror, curious as to what Ebrisa had actually accomplished while he zoned out so completely.

To his surprise, the annoying twists were somewhat tamed, slicked back in waves and giving him a more commanding appearance. “Maker's Breath. How...?” He turned back to Ebrisa, finding her only a few steps away and fidgeting nervously.

“Is it okay?” She rubbed at her forehead, averting her eyes in case he didn't like what he saw.

Cullen took those few steps to stand by her side, still slightly baffled. “More than okay. I think people will finally be able to take me seriously now.” He ran his hand against the finger-styled locks, cautious to not mess it up so soon. “Honestly, I was never fond of my curly hair. It was in a constant, terrible state growing up.”

“Oh,” Ebrisa mumbled, still looking away. “So, you don't like curly hair?”

Somehow, through the lingering daze of Ebrisa's touch and the stun of her styling efforts, Cullen was able to pick up the twinge of hurt in her voice. He hesitated for only a moment, only long enough to make a decision that would change the rest of his days in the Gallows. “I know of a few people that can pull it off. One of them is actually quite fetching.”

“Is that so?” She glanced up at him sheepishly. “Anyone I know?”

The man folded his arms in thought. “Doubtful. You don't get out of the Circle much.”

“Oh...” Ebrisa mumbled, frowning slightly and returning her eyes to the floor.

A few beats of quiet, then Cullen looked over his shoulder and pointed. “There she is now.”

Ebrisa looked quickly to the doorway, expecting to catch sight of someone walking past but found it empty instead. Slowly, her eyes found Cullen's finger and followed its direction towards her reflection on the wall. Her mouth dropped slightly in surprise, lips trying to form a response.

“Though, maybe you _do_ know her,” Cullen relented with a shrug of his shoulder. “She doesn't get out much either.”

The enchanter blushed and forced her gaze to the man beside her. “Flatterer.”

“It's only flattery if its untrue.” Cullen smirked as Ebrisa blushed further and brought her fingers to her mouth. She released a quiet, hesitant laugh, as though she thought he might be joking, and the sound morphed Cullen's half-smile to a frown. Why were compliments so hard for her to accept?

“A-anyways,” Ebrisa began, steering the conversation away from herself and returning to her desk, fumbling with the papers like she fumbled with her thoughts. “As I was saying earlier? If we brought in some extra revenue, establishing another building for those in need wouldn't be a problem.”

Cullen listened and nodded, asking a few questions and getting back to business. All through their discussion, he was surrounded by the woman's scent and his skin still tingled from her earlier touch. It was near torture for his senses to be so overwhelmed by her and yet unable to return the sensation, but he managed.

Maybe others wouldn't approve of a templar and mage being together, maybe the Chantry wouldn't allow it, and maybe Ebrisa didn't even want it, so until he knew the answers for those things, Cullen wouldn't speak his feelings. He would not speak them, but he was determined to flirt with Ebrisa relentlessly in the mean time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tee hee hee. Let the awkward flirting begin.


	11. The Outside World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains stuff about the first Dragon Age graphic novel without any real spoilers. Originally, I wanted Isabela to bring back some bananas from her travels, but this made a lot more sense...

When Varric agreed to accompany Isabela on her newest job, he hadn't expected it to take so long. It was meant to be a simple break-in of one of the most notorious prisons in Thedas, but when the client didn't find who he was looking for, the mission became more of a search and less of a rescue. Varric didn't mind, since it was making for great story fodder, but things quickly escalated and became more dangerous the longer he and Isabela stayed with the Fereldan warrior. Kings, dragons, magisters, Qunari, the friggen _Fade –_ yeah, there were a lot of things Varric hadn't expected when he said _yes_.

Kirkwall had changed since he left in early summer. The streets were cleared of rubble, buildings were under repair, and Tranquil were set up in scattered clinics and shops throughout the city. He poked around the new additions curiously, discovering that the clinics didn't charge and the shops sold enchantments and tonics, but nothing needed for health. It didn't take a genius to figure out whose terrible idea that was.

The last time Varric was in the Gallows, Meredith's crystallized remains in the entry yard were merely blocked from view by a hastily constructed tent of fabric and wood, and now there was a solid tomb of stone sealing off the red lyrium monstrosity. Varric passed it cautiously, running his eyes over the engraved symbols coating the surface and once again knowing whose _not-so_ -terrible idea that was.

“Been a busy little bee, haven't you, Sunshine?” Varric called as he strode into Ebrisa's office, startling the woman from her writing.

She quickly recovered and smiled warmly at her visitor. “The first enchanter has to do _something_ when there are no mages to direct, Master Varric.”

“So its all for appearance sake?” He squinted an eye and looked up in thought. “Naw, not buying it. Gotta say that I'm a little concerned about the Gallows' future when the lady in charge of its finances uses such terrible business sense. Free clinics and healing tonics? You wouldn't last a day in the Merchant's Guild.”

“Its a good thing I'm in a Circle then,” Ebrisa hummed back. She sat up a little straighter in her chair, adopting an authoritative posture. “The Chantry is still too small to delegate their own healers and the Tranquil are more than prepared to fill that void. Sisters would not charge the misfortuned and neither shall we, Master Varric. The supplemental income from enchantments and the like is more than sufficient for our current needs.”

“Well,” the dwarf huffed, rolling back his shoulders, “do forgive my impertinence, First Enchanter. I shan't question your motives again.”

She laughed quietly, dropping back into her earlier, relaxed position. “See that you don't, Master Tethras.”

“I'm guessing you've made some progress on that red lyrium?” Varric jutted a thumb in the general direction of the entry yard. “Meredith's new quarters seem nicely decorated.”

Ebrisa made an uncomfortable sound, shifting in her chair and studying her desk. “Serrah Maddox is leading the research and learning what he can from the fragments of Meredith's sword, but in truth not much has been revealed. I... _felt_ something strange a few weeks ago, but no one else seems to have noticed it. We've theorized that it has to do with the magical nature of the red lyrium and the fact that I'm the only person sensitive enough to be bothered by it. Those wards you saw are for generic magic suppression and do appear to be working, for the time being.”

The dwarf leaned forward on the desk, searching the woman worriedly. “What was it? Whispers? A song?”

She shook her head and waved a hand, hoping one of the actions would ease his concern. “Nothing like that, just a... warmth. To be honest, if it wasn't coming from Meredith's shell, I would have dismissed it entirely.”

It had taken Bartrand years to go completely mad and by the time Varric reunited with him, his brother was too far gone. All the anger Varric felt at being left in that damn primeval thaig faltered at the sight of Bartrand's insanity and he gave him a merciful death. He didn't want a repeat of that day any time soon. Or ever. “You'll let me know if you do start hearing voices, right?”

She nodded, smiling gently. “I'm glad you've returned safely. I didn't expect you to be in Antiva for so long.”

Varric let out a dramatic sigh, swinging a satchel off his arm. “Antiva, Tevinter, Seheron... let's just say Isabela's little _quickie mission_ wasn't so little after all.”

“It certainly doesn't sound like it,” Ebrisa agreed as she looked to the doorway. “Is she with you?”

The time Isabela spent with the Qunari had changed her – for better or worse, Varric wasn't sure – but the woman had decided to keep to the sea for a while. He wanted to protest, but knew that his friend needed to work through a lot of shit and the best way she could do that was out on the open water yelling at her crew and embracing the freedom of the sea air. Isabela stayed in harbor only long enough to drop off Varric and resupply before heading off to Denerim to bring her client home and get all that lovely payment the man had promised from the treasury. Varric wished her fair winds and cursed her for putting him in such an awkward position.

“No, Sunshine,” Varric began gently, “she won't be back for some time.”

Ebrisa snapped her eyes back to the dwarf, brow furrowing in confusion and concern. “Is she alright? Did something happen?”

Something had indeed happened, but Varric would never recount a word of what he had seen in that Qunari stronghold or the dream prisons. He owed Isabela that much. “She'll be fine, she just needs some space.”

“Oh,” Ebrisa mumbled, idly inching a sheet of parchment back and forth on her desk. “She could have said good-bye, at least...”

“Right you are, but she did manage to be a little considerate of your needs.” Varric thumped the satchel on the desk and began pulling out books. “Isabela said you wanted to learn Tevene, so my cousin's widow hooked us up with some educational material. These are entry level, but when you are ready for an upgrade, just say the word and I'll ask Mae.”

Ebrisa picked up one of the books stiffly, staring at it with more trepidation than Varric had ever seen from her. “I guess I really can't put it off any longer, can I? After Ser Fenris was unable to help beyond pronunciation, I had thought I could lay the entire thing to rest.” She closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose, as if trying to gather her courage. “Now I have no excuse.”

Varric was well aware of the blood magic situation, Isabela forcing Merrill to explain everything after Quentin's notes were first discovered, and knew better than to bring it up. Ebrisa had resigned herself to look at the research, but she obviously still found the task immensely disagreeable and Varric knew nothing he said could change that. “So, trying to pad your resume by becoming bilingual? Don't you go looking for another job, Sunshine, we need you.” He grinned widely and leaned an arm on the desk. “How's about we increase your pay?”

“I don't take any pay.”

“That'll make it easy to increase then.”

“And I'm already bilingual,” Ebrisa added, poking another hole in Varric's theory.

“That's right,” he mumbled, “I forgot that you speak drunk-Orlesian.”

She pouted mildly. “I speak normal Orlesian. I just happened to be drunk the last time I used it.”

“Likely story,” Varric countered. “So what can Kirkwall do to keep you here?”

Ebrisa shook her head, smiling softly to herself. “I'm not going anywhere, Master Varric. I could not bare to be separated from my love-” she bit her tongue and flushed “- _lovely friends_.”

It was a valiant recovery effort, but the damage had been done and Varric smirked while slowly casting his gaze out the door and across the corridor. “Yes, I'm sure you couldn't.” He looked back to Ebrisa, the woman now trying to look busy by stacking the newly acquired books. “That reminds me, do you know where I might find Marian or Garrett? I need an update on what else I've missed around here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The beginning of autumn marked the release of Varric Tethras' latest book, _The Tale of the Champion_. It had a mixed reception, being little like the over-the-top action-thrillers and painfully-awful smut people expected from him. The story was embellished – because, really,Varric couldn't help himself – but it was a lot more honest than some felt comfortable with. The foreign market ate the book up and its popularity grew exponentially, each reader recommending it to at least two friends, but domestic sales were less than stellar.

Kirkwall's citizens were uncertain how to feel about the fantastical way the past seven years were represented, as though Varric's recounting diminished their struggles and suffering to mere fiction. To the rest of Thedas, it was an intriguing read. In Kirkwall, it was a one-dimensional look at their lives. That's not to say some of the locals didn't enjoy the book! Those who had never interacted with any of the key figures were enthralled by the information they hadn't been privy to and the people that found themselves as a minor side-character bragged about it to any who would listen.

There were lots of things that Varric didn't include in his book, partially because he had enough sense to realize some private things should remain that way and partially because he didn't want his other book sales to plummet. This is why he excluded a lot of Cullen from the story and why Ebrisa was nowhere to be seen. After all, this was _The Tale of the Champion,_ not _The Tale of Kirkwall_. As the end of the season grew closer, the world outside the city-state made changes and decisions of its own and no one could be certain how much of that was due to the carefully crafted words of Varric Tethras.

 

Ebrisa returned from the mid-day meal to find a package sitting on her desk and couldn't restrain the squeal of delight as she rushed across the office to open it. The noise drew Cullen's attention and curiosity enough that he set down his own work and joined the woman across the corridor. She'd managed to pry the top off the small crate by the time he joined her and Cullen peeked inside as she set the lid away.

“A book?” He shot her an amused smirk. “That's what's gotten you all worked up?”

She lifted the thick tome from the packaging, eyes shining in excitement. “Its _The_ _New Cumberland Chant of Light_! Divine Justinia has released dissonant verses to the public!” Ebrisa turned to the templar, smiling brightly as she crushed the heavy book against her chest. “How could I _not_ be excited about this?”

Cullen hummed, not wanting to undermine Ebrisa's obvious elation over new scripture, but still feeling uneasy. “Peculiar timing, isn't it? With the rumored unrest in Orlais' alienages and the College of Enchanters fiasco, you'd think the Chantry had more important things to worry about. Why would the Most Holy decide to release this now?”

 _Fiasco_ was a fairly accurate word. Not for the first time, the Fraternity of Mages gathered in Cumberland to discuss the idea of pulling away from the Chantry. When the topic was brought up years ago – well before Anders even began to formulate his end game – it was quickly rejected and Grand Enchanter Briaus never even let it come to a vote. Ebrisa had received an invitation to represent the Gallows at the College of Magi the month prior as a Loyalist, but she was in no position to leave Kirkwall and felt she had no right to stand beside the _true_ first enchanters, so she ultimately declined. At that gathering, under Grand Enchanter Fiona, a vote finally took place. It did not pass.

Fiona had been openly campaigning for the Circles to separate from the Chantry and the failure of her efforts lead to the Chantry dissolving the College. Such a thing should have also ended the woman's title and authority, but Fiona held on to both. She continued to push for mages rights to govern themselves and her words were only adding to the already existing tension between her people and the templars that still watched over them.

“It is likely _because_ of those issues that this has been released now,” Ebrisa began, opening the book and running her eyes over Justinia's preface. “ _The Chant is the song of our own histories – sometimes conflicting, sometimes imagined – changing with each voice that takes up the tale, in many diverse lands, for many reasons. It is political, spiritual, personal, visionary, manipulative, exultant, and tragic all at once. It is a work with many purposes and interpretations, and it is my hope that this edition will help future readers discover their own within its verses_.” She looked up at Cullen, still holding the heavy scripture. “By adding the _Canticle of Shartan_ , there's a hope to ease the rifts between elves and humans, to show everyone that even Andraste respected the people. In calling attention to how the Chant is a thread in many lives, the Divine is asking people to unify under the Chantry.”

“So you're saying this is a political move?” Cullen frowned slightly, feeling uncomfortable about the prospect. “I would hope the Divine would be above _The Game_ , even if she is Orlesian.”

“Were that it was possible, but unfortunately Her Holiness has to be more politically minded than most. Every one of her actions is scrutinized by all of Thedas, each sentence torn apart to look for hidden meanings.” The woman closed the book and set it down on her desk. “We refer to the Divine as _Her Perfection_ , because that is what she must be every second of every day.”

Cullen watched her for a moment, studying the way Ebrisa perched herself so easily and yet so elegantly on the edge of her desk. “You're surprisingly politically minded.”

She giggled lightly, hiding the action behind the back of her hand. “One of us needed to be, and it certainly wasn't going to be _you_ , Knight-Commander.”

“I am forever in your debt for compensating for my inadequacies, First Enchanter.” He bowed his head respectfully, playful smirk betraying his attempt at seriousness.

“And how shall you repay this debt?”

He locked gazes with the woman, freezing her in place with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I'm sure I'll think of something.”

Warmth spread across her face and Ebrisa tried to look away, but found she couldn't. “I... I look forward to it...” she whispered, voice more airy than she expected.

“Then I better not disappoint,” Cullen replied, moving just a little closer. His heart was pounding in his chest and he wondered how much further he could push their interaction that day. He'd gotten a lot more confident over the months, but still could not bring himself to cross certain lines. He watched the movement in Ebrisa's throat as she swallowed, knowing he was beginning to make her nervous, and decided to back off a little.

“You could never disappoint me,” she replied after taking a moment to gather herself.

Cullen darted his eyes to the corner cabinet where he knew Ebrisa kept Quentin's research under lock and key and felt his scar itch. He took a step back, then another, and pivoted towards the door. “I best return to my own work. The quarter will be over in a week and I'd prefer to not be behind this time.”

She nodded, smiling with the same amusement he had given her earlier. “A noble goal, to be sure.”

As Cullen moved back into his own office, he couldn't ignore the gnawing pit in his stomach and the prickling at his wrist. He could never disappoint her? He only hoped that were true.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the few world events we have a specific date for is the release of the dissonant verses on 12 Harvestmere 9:38 Dragon. With all the other stuff happening in 9:38, I figured the keen Justinia would try and use the release to distract from and/or resolve some issues.  
> So... that means we're in Harvestmere now!


	12. Exchange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a combination of the Antivan and Fereldan Satinalia recipes from [this previously mentioned blog](https://tumblr.com/blog/dragonagerecipes) and real world seasonal food. When I saw that there was a version of barley stew in “The Whole Nug” cookbook section in 'The World of Thedas vol 2', I just had to do the thing. Its a cute thing. You'll like it.

Summerday that year had seen a bought of illness overtake a magistrate's family and Ebrisa was called away from the Gallows to tend them for several days. All Souls Day, being religious and solemn in nature, did not lend itself to anything but Chantry music. So here Ebrisa was, a full year after her first attempt, preparing to play her harp for Cullen. It was foolish of her to still feel so nervous about it, and Ebrisa couldn't be sure if it would be better to play her song early into the meal or towards the end. If she performed her musical confession too soon, there would be the entirety of the evening to fret about Cullen's reaction. If she pushed it back, then she ran the risk of him leaving early and missing it.

Ebrisa double checked the food line once again before the doors opened, wanting to be certain that the fuller menu was ready to go before anyone came in. Last year they had been ill prepared for the celebration, but this time Ebrisa was certain to offer a more traditional selection. Pork, barley stew, roasted root vegetables, cheese fritters, and gingerbread. Well, perhaps not _that_ traditional, but certainly closer than what the templars and Tranquil were used to getting.

She took up her seat by the wall and began playing the harp just as the first of the diners arrived. Some smiled at her as they passed and picked up their trays and she returned the expression. It was too noisy for lyrics to be made out, so the harpist stuck to instrumental music for the time being. This also enabled her to make light conversation whenever someone spoke to her and soon almost everyone had gathered their meal and found a seat.

Before she could start another piece, a firm voice drew her attention.

“Oh no, we aren't having a repeat of last year.” Cullen folded his arms and looked down at her as though she were a recruit disobeying orders.

She shrunk back from the imagined scolding, almost pouting as she pleaded her case. “I only just started.”

“And did you eat before hand?”

Ebrisa dropped her eyes, unable to confess that she hadn't.

“I thought as much,” Cullen sighed. He turned around to address the room, speaking loudly enough for the crowd to hear without needing to shout. “Would you all mind if the first enchanter took a break to eat and possibly enjoy herself for a moment this evening?” The room responded with various sounds of approval and Cullen turned back to the still seated woman with a raised brow. “Well, there you have it.”

Embarrassed for being called out in front of everyone but unable to ignore the indirect semi-order with so many eyes still on her, Ebrisa begrudgingly set the harp to the side and rose to her feet. “A small break then,” she relented, cheeks faintly colored.

Cullen nodded in approval, handing her a tray. “So long as you get more food in your belly than last year.” The mentioning of her previous Satinalia meal had Ebrisa blushing further at what she'd given Cullen in response to his _gift_. She laughed nervously and moved past him to the food line, just barely catching sight of his own flushed skin as they filled their trays.

From time to time, Ebrisa would bring Cullen an afternoon snack and they'd chat in his office for a bit before getting back to work, but never had they actually sat down and shared a proper meal. Before either could even think of finding a quiet corner to eat in, Marian jumped to her feet and flagged them down. “There's space over here!”

Unable to sneak off now that they had been spotted, Cullen and Ebrisa took the offered places at the table, which was mostly Ebrisa's bunkmates with the exception of Moira and the addition of Garrett. The leaders settled on the half empty bench and quietly began eating, keeping their eyes similarly trained on their meal.

“What is _that_?” Garrett sneered, pointing at the bowls on both the blondes' trays.

“ _Rude_ , is what _that_ is,” Audrey whispered harshly.

Cullen lifted his eyes, noticing that none of the other templars had taken any of the lumpy food for themselves. He ran his spoon through it to double-check its contents before answering. “It appears to be turnip and barley stew.”

“It is,” Ebrisa confirmed as she cut another piece from her pork. “It's authentically Fereldan.”

“Authentic, eh?” The knight-commander took a bite of the stew, stilling as the familiar flavors filled his mouth.

Marian chuckled at his dumbfounded expression, spoon still in his mouth and everything. “If a Fereldan doesn't like it, then we definitely made the right choice in avoiding that.”

Panic shot up Ebrisa's spine and she straightened instantly, grabbing her own bowl and staring at the stew. “Oh no, did I use too much cumin? It _sounded_ like an awful lot. Maybe I burned the garlic and it went bitter? I should have just dumped all the aromatics in at the same time, but I was concerned it would be raw.” She drew her spoon through the stew, searching for blackened bits of vegetable.

Cullen finally removed the utensil from his mouth, holding it lightly over his bowl. “My mother made this every year after the harvest.”

“I know,” Ebrisa sighed dejectedly. “I did my best to follow the recipe Lady Mia sent me, but something clearly went wrong. This is why I prefer baking – there's far less guess work or room for error.”

Her bunkmates gave her curious looks, each of them muttering something different under their breath.

“His mother?”

“You _know?_ ”

“Lady Mia?”

Cullen couldn't hear the peanut gallery, still too baffled by the unexpected dish. Had she thought to ask Mia for it, or had this been his sister's idea? “No, this is... _exactly_ the same.”

“It is?” The enchanter looked up from her bowl to find Cullen staring at his own with a warm, nostalgic expression. She nearly melted at the sight, relieved to have given the man a little piece of the home he left behind. “So you like it then?”

“Every bit as much as I did in my youth.” He took another bite, catching Ebrisa smiling from the corner of his eye.

“I'm glad.” She paused, glancing around the table and finding no bowls besides their own. “From the looks of things, there will be plenty of leftovers.”

Cullen chuckled as he scooped up more. “Good. It's better the second day.”

After having eaten enough to satisfy the templar, Ebrisa returned to the harp and played a few more songs. She began to panic when Cullen rose from his seat, her voice hitching noticeably as she worried he was leaving and she'd once again missed her chance. To her relief, he'd merely gone for more stew and by the time he returned to the table she knew what song she had to perform next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It was oddly peaceful in the rowdy dining hall, at least Cullen thought so. Here, sitting at a table with his subordinates as they gabbed and laughed without reservation, made him feel less like their superior and more like one of them. It had been so long since he hadn't felt the pressing weight of command on his shoulders that he was hesitant to leave and went back for another bowl of stew. As Ebrisa had said, there would be plenty of leftovers.

Watching the enchanter playing her Dalish harp had a calming effect all its own and he found himself paying more attention to her than the conversations around him. It was because of this focus that he noticed the next song she began was the same one he'd stumbled on in Leopold's cave earlier that year. He wasn't the only one that recognized it either.

“Oh!” Audrey perked up at the arrangement of notes and motioned with her hands for the others to quiet. “It's her song! The one she hadn't finished writing!”

Halle twisted around in her seat excitedly, giving the first enchanter her full attention. “Its pretty!”

“It'll be prettier if you aren't talking over it,” Marian hissed, snapping her fingers in the redhead's ear and making her squirm away.

Cullen broke his attention from the enchanter to glance at her bunkmates curiously. What did they mean she wrote it? When he asked about it, Ebrisa had said... she said it was written by an Ostwick native. She had meant herself?

“It's a love song,” Halle sighed, clasping her hands over her chest as Ebrisa worked her way through the first verse.

So Ebrisa had written a love song, lots of people do that. In fact, they're likely the most common type amongst amateur composers. Still, the intimate, personal feeling he had sensed from the song before felt so much more intense now that he knew these words were hers. The words were hers, but what of their meaning? Were these her own feelings, and if so, about who?

At the end of the second verse, Ebrisa flicked her eyes away from the strings and met his across the room, the brief glance stealing the air from his lungs. He tried to shake it off, tried to not dwell on it, but then she did it again, as if gauging his reaction. Cullen had told her before that he thought she sounded lovely when he denied being able to hear the lyrics, so maybe she was curious if he still found it true.

“She's looking at you, Knight-Commander,” Garrett said in a low, teasing voice.

Cullen felt his face heat, wondering how many other people had noticed the path of her eyes. He motioned quickly to Ebrisa's half-finished tray, trying to find another reason. “I'm certain she's only checking that you haven't stolen her gingerbread.”

“Mm-hmm.” Garrett nodded slowly, though he was clearly unconvinced.

They had only been fleeting glances, nothing really long enough to make anything out from such a distance. As much as Cullen may have been hoping for a deeper meaning, there likely wasn't one. Her nervous behavior was due to this being the first time she'd performed a composition of her own in front of an audience, the flush on her cheeks was because she was embarrassed by the words she'd written, and the glances to Cullen were merely because he was her friend and she was seeking support.

The song was slowing, nearing its end, and Ebrisa looked up once again to find his eyes watching her. This time, she did not look away.

_“In song confess_

_the words I cannot say...”_

 

Scattered clapping rang out across the hall, the halfhearted response making it clear how few had actually paid attention to the song. Someone called out a request and Ebrisa obliged, continuing on as though she hadn't just rattled Cullen to his very core in front of the entire Circle. There was a chance that she had not meant anything by her musically accented words or shy glances, but there was also a very real chance that the opposite was true.

Cullen stayed in his seat for the rest of the meal, watching Ebrisa from the corner of his eyes to prevent anyone from noticing his staring. He paid careful attention as she performed other songs, taking note of her expressions and where her eyes focused. Every piece she played now was by request and, while some could be categorized as love songs in the loosest form, none of them carried the same intensity her own had. By his observation, Ebrisa's behavior had not been accidental.

“Cullen, you're still here!”

The enchanter's voice had him straighten in the mostly empty hall and avert his gaze in an overcompensating attempt to not be caught staring. His eyes fell on her abandoned tray and he pulled up the same excuse he'd given Garrett for her glances earlier.

“I was guarding your dessert,” Cullen lamely tried, nudging the remnants of her meal in her direction as she made her way over to the table with the harp in her arms.

Ebrisa smiled shyly, focusing on the gingerbread. “I'm certain it will taste all the sweeter, having been defended so valiantly by the knight-commander himself.”

Cullen chuckled, getting up from the empty table. “That's what I'm here for: protecting the innocent from dark forces. Ser Garrett's sweet-tooth is notoriously vile.”

Laughter bubbled out of the woman, a sound more beautiful than any other she had produced that night, and Cullen couldn't have stop the adoring smile that spread across his face if he tried.

“I'm actually rather glad you stayed behind, it saves me the trouble of tracking you down.” She hesitated, as though second guessing herself. “Could you come with me for a moment?”

He froze for only a second, blinking away his surprise before agreeing and hoping he didn't sound over-eager. Cullen offered to carry the instrument if for no other reason than Ebrisa could finally eat the gingerbread, which she did quietly as they walked to her lab.

The appointment to first enchanter did not diminish her own education and alchemical research, but it did grant her the authority to claim a classroom as her own and set up shop inside. She was careful to not dip into supplies that were needed for the Formari shops or clinics and had even established a section of the herb garden for her own purposes. Ebrisa wrote down everything she devised or adjusted and was already into her second grimoire, but the tome now read more like a recipe book than a spell book.

The room was dark when they entered and Ebrisa lit a few lamps with a flick of her wrist as she moved to a cabinet. Cullen set the harp down on a mostly cleared table as she began searching, marveling on how her title had boosted her confidence with her own magic and made her more comfortable with using it. Command, even if it were only over Tranquil, seemed to agree with her as well.

Cullen had hoped to speak with her about her song, about her glances at him during it, but she had spent the entirety of their walk daintily eating her cookies and he felt foolish for drawing so much attention to them earlier. If he hadn't, they would have been able to talk. Just as he was about to bring it up, Ebrisa leaned back from the cabinet with a bright sound of triumph and a small bundle in her hands.

She hurried back over to him with the bundle behind her back, barely containing her excitement. “I thought that, since we're doing a lot better this year – the Gallows, I mean – that it would be alright if I got you something.” Ebrisa brought the linen-wrapped object around and held it out towards Cullen. “Happy Satinalia?”

He stared at the palm-sized present, more surprise on his face than he should have let slip. The longer the quiet stretched between them, the harder it was for Cullen to break it. She'd gotten him a gift? He hadn't gotten anything since he was thirteen! It was such a strange feeling, to unexpectedly be offered something with no strings attached, that he had forgotten how to respond. His silence was making Ebrisa increasingly uncomfortable, her face scrunching up in worry with every unanswered moment.

“I suppose I shouldn't have...” she mumbled, slowly retracting the gift to her chest.

The movement snapped Cullen to attention and he quickly snatched the object from her hands, clutching it to his own chest protectively. “No! That is, I hadn't been... you took me by surprise.”

Ebrisa smiled sheepishly, tucking an imagined wisp of hair behind her ear. “Are you going to open it? The wrapping is part of it. Well, not _part of it_ , but its a gift too.”

The linen seemed unremarkable at first, tucked around the heavier object, but as Cullen tugged it free and his eyes roamed over the white square he found what set it apart. It was hemmed in a deep red with a decorative sort of edge stitch and in the bottom corner lay his initials. He ran his thumb over the swirling burgundy letters curiously, calling up memories of years ago after Saemus Dumar died and what Ebrisa had done for the templars then.

“You made this?” It was a question, but it wasn't. Cullen was fully aware that the woman standing in front of him had embroidered the apparent handkerchief, he just couldn't figure out when she had found the time to do any needlework.

She laughed nervously, rubbing at her forehead. “I had thought to add something else – the templar sigil or the Fereldan coat of arms – but I figured something more simplistic would suit you better.” A beat of quiet, then she rushed out an amendment. “Not that I think you're simple! You just, um, don't seem to like frivolous things... and now that I've said that out loud, I am rethinking the whole gift.”

She made a grab for the fabric, but Cullen leaned away and deftly tucked it safely in his sash. The issue settled, he now focused on the uncovered weight in his hands. It was some sort of jar with nothing remarkable on the outside. He raised a brow at the enchanter, but she only motioned for him to open it, her excitement returned. Holding back a chuckle and feeling his own eagerness taking root, Cullen did as he was wordlessly instructed and removed the lid, staring at the vaguely familiar substance inside.

“You seemed to like having your hair slicked back, so I made you some of your own pomade.”

Cullen had long since gotten his hair cut, but it was getting to that annoying stage again. He did like the way the waxy mixture tamed his curls, but was too embarrassed to ask Ebrisa if he could use it again, especially since her supply was floral scented. He'd checked around Kirkwall as subtly as he could, not wanting to appear vain or give any one grounds to tease him. Maker, if Varric or Hawke got wind that he was poking around the market in search of _beauty products_ while on patrol, he'd never hear the end of it.

“You made it,” Cullen mumbled. “So _that's_ why I haven't seen it in any local shops.” He stilled, realizing he'd given himself away, and Ebrisa's light giggle did nothing to ease his trepidation.

“You truly _did_ like it! Frankly, I think you look rather handsome regardless, but you said the styling made you feel more... what was it?” She tapped her fingers on her chin, looking down in thought. “Serious?”

“Something like that.” Cullen was grateful for the product, but hesitant to smell it, given Ebrisa's proclivity for flowers. He'd likely still use it, even it it made him smell like a rosebush.

As though she could sense his thoughts, Ebrisa smirked playfully. “Fear not, I kept the lavender for myself. It's not exactly a manly scent.”

Cullen tilted his head in a partial nod. “That is most appreciated, and I am curious what you think I _should_ smell like.”

She pushed his hand higher, bringing the jar closer to his nose for his approval. “I thought sandalwood would accent you well.”

“And how long did it take you come to that conclusion?”

“Oh, not long,” Ebrisa said with a wave of her hand towards one of her work stations, pointing out the essential oils. “The oakmoss in the base is earthy and your natural scent of warm leather and sword oil would only be enhanced by... the...” She trailed off, face heating in mild mortification as she realized she'd basically just admitted to studying the way the man before her smelled.

Cullen smirked as he secured the lid, eyes glinting. “Do you spend a lot of time thinking about my natural scent?”

Words abandoned Ebrisa, small half-sounds slipping from her throat as she darted her eyes around nervously until Cullen felt he more or less had his answer and mercifully ceased her panic with a chuckle. No sooner had her unease dissipated then Cullen was struck with a panic of his own.

“I should give you a gift too...” he mumbled, bringing a hand to his mouth and rummaging through an inventory in his mind for something appropriate.

Her senses regained, Ebrisa was quick to dismiss the notion. “That's alright, Cullen. I didn't do this looking for a present and I sprang it on you without warning.”

“That's _not_ alright,” he muttered, setting the jar on a nearby table and patting himself down. “You give too much, Ebrisa. You deserve something good in return.” Finding nothing save the handkerchief she'd just given _him_ , the man groaned in a mixture of irritation and disappointment. He should have thought to get her something for Satinalia, and the idea that he had nothing tore him up. Cullen rubbed at his neck, holding back a growl, and his gloved fingers brushed against the cord laying there. “Something _good_ ,” he repeated, realizing that there was one thing he could give.

He swiftly tugged on the cord and pulled a small, leather pouch from around his neck. Cullen took hold of Ebrisa's hand and placed the item in her grasp, releasing a short, but loud breath. She recognized the pouch as the same Solivitus used to sell for runes when a customer had no specified item they wanted enchanted and her brow furrowed at its light weight, almost as though it were empty. Curiously, she loosened the top and turned it over, shaking until a silver coin dropped into her palm.

“Before I left for templar training, my brother gave me this,” Cullen began to explain, seeing the obvious confusion on her face. “It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck.”

He reached out and picked up the coin, turning it in his fingers as his eyes ran over every familiar scratch and dent. Through all of his days with the Order in Fereldan and his early months in Kirkwall, he'd kept the coin in the bottom of his boot. The feel of the disk pressing into him with each position change in training and every step on patrol was a reminder that he was not alone and the thought was comforting. The _thought_ was, but the coin was painful after a long march and as soon as Cullen became an officer and no longer needed to hide the coin, he began carrying it in the small pouch around his neck instead. He was immensely grateful that he hadn't needed to yank off his boot to get it out now, as the action would surely put Ebrisa off.

“So you're giving me the pouch?” Ebrisa looked the well worn bit of leather over, knowing it had been darkened with Cullen's sweat as much as with age and the thought made her cheeks heat more than a respectable lady's should.

“No, I'm giving you good luck.” Cullen dropped the coin back inside the pouch and pulled the cord to close it.

She gaped at him, holding her hands up in warding now that they were empty. “Oh, Cullen, no. No, I can't accept something precious like that. This was from your family; this has been with you since you left their side. I just – its too important. _I can't_.”

Part of him was hurt she didn't immediately accept, but part of him was glad she saw the true worth of the coin. “No offense Ebrisa, but you haven't exactly been fortunate. I, on the other hand, find that my good luck charm has been replaced by a far more captivating one.”

“More captivating?” She eyed him curiously, but in that curiosity was a spark of understanding.

He nodded, running his fingers along the cording and holding the loop open. “Things have certainly gotten better for me with you around.” Cullen paused, smiling warmly as her eyes widened. “Besides,” he continued, “templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our _faith_ should see us through.” If anyone could turn faith into actual protection, it was Ebrisa, but an extra push couldn't hurt.

Ebrisa laughed softly, looking away slightly. “You broke the Order's rules? That's a terrible example to set, Knight-Commander.”

“Fear not, First Enchanter, I am usually very good at following them.” Cullen slipped the cord over her head, guiding it slowly into place. “But some rules are meant to be broken.” He let the comment hang like the new weight around her neck and waited for her response. Over the months he'd become strangely adept at saying things without actually saying anything. Its what allowed him to flirt with Ebrisa while maintaining an air of teasing friendship. She could construct her own meaning from his comments and reacted in any number of ways, sometimes seeming to catch his intent and others dismissing it as a joke. How would she take this one?

“Shall I inform my bunkmates that you will be less strict with contraband materials then?”

A joke. Ebrisa hadn't understood his true meaning.

“That depends on the contraband,” he said with a forced smile.

“They appear to be avid fans of Master Varric's books.”

“Maker's Breath,” Cullen sighed, rolling his eyes. The drying plants on the ceiling drew his attention, canceling the annoyed grumble that was going to follow his earlier remark. He looked down at the softly smiling enchanter, then back to the sprigs directly above them.

“Cullen?” Ebrisa gently prodded, wondering why he had grown so silent.

He looked at her once again, a nervous, yet determined expression on his face and before she could question him, Cullen drew one hand across her cheek and bent down in a kiss. His palm kept her in place, but she didn't fight him beyond the squeak of surprise he muffled with his lips. This wasn't like the hungry Fade kisses or the frantic one they shared in the corridor as she healed him, this was soft and gentle. This was a promise of his affection, not an echo of his desire, and it took a lot of restraint to keep it that way. As much as he wanted to bury his hands in Ebrisa's hair and show her the effect she had on him, he wanted – no, _needed_ – to know if she even wanted him at all.

He pulled away before he lost control, trailing his fingers down her cheek and studying her reaction. She was dazed, skin flushed a lovely rose color, and lips parted in such a way that it was almost an unspoken invitation. Almost, but he needed a verbal one.

“Cullen, what was...?”

Fear got the better of him and Cullen straightened, pointing to the plants above them. “Oh, well, you see.” All of the confidence he had earlier in the evening vanished in that brief exchange and he was reduced to nervously stumbling like a teenager. “There was mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe?” She repeated, haze lifting from her expression as she followed his finger upward.

“Yes, and, in Fereldan, there's a holiday tradition.” He cleared his throat, searching for some of that lost smoothness. “If you find yourself beneath mistletoe with someone, you have to kiss them. It's bad luck otherwise.”

Ebrisa was quiet, taking in his words and frowning slightly. “That's prophet's laurel.”

“What?” Cullen looked back up at the twig with its oblong leaves and round berries. “You're certain?”

“I'm not in the habit of cultivating poisonous and parasitic plants with my herbs,” Ebrisa sighed, returning her eyes to the man before her. “I'm certain.”

“Oh.” The heat that crept over Cullen's skin was instantaneous and unbearable. That made him, what, three times the fool since entering this room? That had to be a new record. “Yes, you would be certain. I mean, you put them up there, of course you'd know.” He rubbed at his neck, cursing his foolish impulse and hoping it hadn't damaged things between them. “Its late, I should get some sleep. Good night.” Cullen turned around and rushed for the door as quickly as he could without looking like he was fleeing.

“Wait!” Ebrisa called after him and the sound froze him in place. The woman hurried over to him, getting to his side just as he willed himself to face her. She took his hand and placed the jar in his palm, smiling past the blush on her cheeks. “Happy Satinalia, Cullen.”

Despite himself, despite his foolishness, Cullen returned the expression. “Happy Satinalia.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice, long chapter with a lot of stuff going on! You guys deserved it.
> 
> Also, I'm out of town for several days and in a different timezone, so hopefully this is going up around the same time as usual...


	13. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still out of town, so this is going up a few hours early as I can't stay awake any longer...  
> Remember all those happy fuzzy feelings from last chapter? Well... just... remember those.

“Ser Carver, you're Fereldan, aren't you?”

The broad templar cast a quick, curious glance at the woman walking beside him before returning his focus to the crates in his arms. “Last time I checked,” he drawled, wondering both where the question had come from and where it was going.

Ebrisa thumped her head against the ledgers in her grip. “Right, stupid question. Sorry.” She shook off the nerves and tried again. “I was wondering a few things about Satinalia there.”

“For starters, only the nobles really call it Satinalia. In Lothering, and a lot of the other small villages in the bannorn, it was _Feast Day._ The change took some getting used to.”

“Oh,” she quietly uttered, wondering if the transition had been awkward for Cullen as well. “There was a specific tradition I was curious about.”

Carver shrugged a shoulder, giving the go ahead to ask.

“See, in Ostwick, mistletoe is hung throughout the home to ward off evil spirits.” She recalled her mother nearly blocking out the windows of her room during the holiday season, now knowing it was likely an attempt to banish the _wicked magic_ inside her. “I hear its used a little differently across the Waking Sea.”

He chuckled and stopped at the store room door, waiting for Ebrisa to unlock it. “Fereldan's use sounds down right practical next to that superstitious nonsense. Basically, its a way for party hosts to mess with their guests. Hang a few sprigs in doorways or above the hearth – anywhere you know people will gather – and lay in wait until two unsuspecting guests pass under. Then, bam, they have to kiss.”

The tumblers unlocked and Ebrisa pushed the door open, frowning at the silent room. “So it was true,” she mumbled.

Carver moved past her, setting the heavy crates on the floor. “Are you... disappointed?”

She snapped her eyes to him, finding the templar trying to read her expression. Ebrisa waved her hand, walking up to a shelf and setting down the ledgers. “I was just... thinking about next year. I'd thought perhaps I could put some up as decoration, but if its going to result in unwanted bouts of forced affection, that may not be a good idea.”

“Well, you've plenty of time to figure something else out, First Enchanter.” He moved past her again, heading for the door. “I'll go get the next set. Be back in a few.”

Ebrisa barely registered his words, nodding her approval without fully understanding what she was agreeing to. Last year's celebration had been a bumbling mess and this year's was an evening of missed opportunities and, yes, disappointment. She could still see so much of the night when she closed her eyes, as clear as it had been a week ago.

Cullen had almost looked stunned as she'd played her confession, but during the walk to get his present he hadn't mentioned it at all. Ebrisa wasn't even that big a fan of gingerbread, but she hid behind her nibbles and waited, hoping he would say something, wishing he had understood. She needed him to understand her song, because it was near impossible for her to say any of those things. Cullen was her friend, he had grown so comfortable around her and if she just blurted out her feelings, Ebrisa ran the risk of destroying that friendship. It would be impossible for him to avoid her now that they ran the Circle together, but he could close himself off in professionalism like he'd done before and Ebrisa couldn't bear being shut out again.

That's why when he'd given her the coin she was so incredibly moved. He was sharing a piece of himself, a chapter of his history, and Cullen hanging that token around her neck felt like he was including her in his life. That's what it felt like, but that's not what he intended by it, and she'd recognized his banter for what it was. But then, oh, but then he kissed her.

He was soft and sweet, a dream against her lips, and that was the problem. It was a dream that he would kiss her, a fantasy that he would want to. If the room had been brighter, he wouldn't have misidentified the plant above them, wouldn't have dredged up the Fereldan tradition and felt forced to act on it. That's what it was: an act.

Ebrisa sighed tiredly as she opened the ledger, knowing that a better person wouldn't wish for a fantasy so fiercely. The flasks in the crates found their way to the shelves, Ebrisa methodically taking note of the quantity change in the ledgers. The first crate was empty by the time she heard footsteps and she pointed to another shelf without looking up. “If you could set the resistance tonics there, that would save me a little back and forth.”

There wasn't so much as a grumble from Carver, the door clicking closed the only response she received. Ebrisa started at the unexpected noise, turning to the door and finding a very different templar standing there. Samson was out of uniform, eyes sunken and body tense as he stared right through the enchanter to the lyrium cabinet.

“Ser Raleigh?” Ebrisa set down her quill and faced the man fully. “Aren't you on duty right now?”

“Was,” he corrected. “Karras sent me to go rest. Said I was making the citizens nervous.” He looked jittery, frantic, like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. “Rest doesn’t work. I need lyrium.” Samson flew to the cabinet faster than Ebrisa thought possible under his condition and rattled the handles.

“Ser Raleigh, you're unwell,” Ebrisa slowly began, trying to sound as soothing and gentle as possible as she cautiously approached the man. “If Knight-Lieutenant Karras sent you back from the city, then there is clearly something wrong, yes? Let's go to the infirmary and-”

“No!” Samson snarled, pounding a fist on the cabinet door. “I need lyrium, you _know_ I need lyrium. You've gotten it for me before!”

Over the past year, Ebrisa had provided Samson with small, additional rations of lyrium on days when he looked dead on his feet. It seemed to work immediately, but the enchanter began to notice that he looked worse and worse each time. The man went out of his way to get assignments outside the Circle, as templars working in the city and on the coast were given drafts to take with them in case of battle. Battle rarely came, but Samson always returned with empty flasks.

“That was different. You were in pain, pale, weak with fever.” Saying that out loud now made Ebrisa wonder if allowing him extra rations had been a wise decision after all. Was lyrium truly the cause of his previous – and current – condition? “I won't unlock it for you.”

He straightened, taking a long, deep breath as he rose to his full height. “You helped before.”

“Trying to intimidate me isn't going to change my mind,” Ebrisa replied calmly. “I am not so easily swayed.”

“So your aid is no longer free,” he sneered. “You want something in return.”

“No, that's not-”

Samson grabbed Ebrisa's arm and threw her against one of the sturdy shelving units, the air knocked from her lungs with the sudden thud. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts, but in less time than it took to take in a single breath, Samson was on her.

“I know your price. You've made it obvious enough.” The man roughly kicked her feet apart and hiked up her robes. “Swaying your hips, biting your lip, arching your neck in invitation.”

“I don't!” Ebrisa protested, trying to squirm out of his grip and break away.

“You deny, but look at you already rocking with need like one of the girls at _The Rose_.” Samson shoved his thigh between her own and Ebrisa shrieked at the unwelcomed closeness, trying to find enough purchase on the shelf to pull herself free.

“Stop this right now! Let me go!” She struggled to get up, get out, get away, but his frame – smaller by the standards of the other templar men – easily encompassed hers. “I'm warning you!”

He pressed his hips to hers, holding her firmly to the shelf as his hands worked the buttons on her robes. “So, you want to put on a show? Fine by me. I like a little fight in a whore.”

“Leave me alone!” Ebrisa screamed, squeezing her eyes shut and willing him to just get off her! There was a bright light in her mind and she felt Samson stumbled away with a grunt, the woman slumping against the flasks as she tried to calm her shaking nerves. A mind blast, she realized. She hadn't even meant to cast it, but with her fear so heightened and her desperation so heavy, it was little wonder she hadn't done something more harmful.

But it was harmful enough.

“Little bitch,” Samson spat, now more angry than insistent. “You'll pay for that.” He was out of templar armor, he had no sword, but Ebrisa recognized the stance he was taking all the same. She threw up a barrier, a hastily erected vain attempt at protection as she sprang for the door.

The cleansing wave cut through her less than three steps from where she started and the enchanter dropped to the floor. It wasn't as potent as Cullen's or Leon's and Ebrisa was too terrified to ponder if it was because Samson didn't want to waste any of the lyrium he did sense thrumming through him or because he still wanted her to be able to feel and move. He'd said he like a little fight.

She tried to crawl away, but Samson grabbed her ankle and hauled her back, robes catching on the cobbled floor and bunching up around her. He flipped her onto her back and dropped between her legs, smiling cruelly. “Should have just used your damn key, mage.”

“Stop it, let me go,” Ebrisa cried out with as much force as she could muster, but produced little more than a pathetic whimper. Her chest ached for more air, her limps were lead, but she kicked and shoved and scratched and shouted as much as she could. “No, stop it!”

Samson found her struggles merely annoying and ignored her swatting hands as his own went back to the top of her robes. The jacket had been undone before she escaped the first time and the man no longer pretended to be gentle, gripping the red fabric underneath and wrenching it open with a rip of cloth and a shower of buttons. He smirked in appreciation of the view, squeezing one of her breasts through the still present linen.

“Always thought you had a nice ass. Glad to see you've the tits to match.” Then the breast band was gone.

She screwed her eyes shut, trying to block out the slimy feel of his skin on hers, willing him to stop, pleading for help. Pleading for Cullen. Ebrisa repeated his name over and over in her mind, calling out for him to come help her, to put a stop to this, to pull her into his arms and make her feel safe again. Cullen. _Cullen, Cullen, Cullen!_

“Cullen,” she faintly sobbed, but the pitiful sound was loud enough and Samson backhanded her swiftly.

“Pass yourself around so much you can't keep straight who's between your legs?” He roughly grabbed the side of her smalls, tearing the fabric. “You'll remember my name soon enough.”

The door rattled, then opened and Carver took a half step into the room before freezing. He stopped for only a split-second, only long enough to see the state Ebrisa was in before dropping the crates he was holding and yanking Samson off the enchanter. The planks slit and splintered, most of the glass inside shattering on impact and the hard work of so many Tranquil spilled useless on the floor, but none of that mattered.

Carver easily tackled the older man to the stone, wrestling him to lay on his stomach and bending his arms behind his back. He pulled them high, painful, and dug his knee into Samson's kidney to keep him still in the most excruciating way possible. “You worthless piece of shit!” Carver roared, infuriated. “Why Dee ever endorsed your reinstatement, I have _no_ idea, but I highly doubt you'll be keeping it now.”

Ebrisa pulled herself to a shelf and curled up against it, wrapping an arm around a support in case Samson tried to pull her back again. She was shaking, rattling the flasks beside her until their tinking matched the frantic beating of her heart. With her free hand, she tugged down her robes to cover her thighs before trying to fumble with the torn fabric at her chest. Ebrisa managed to secure one of the buttons of her short jacket, the hem falling just above the bottom curve of her breasts and she felt slightly less exposed, but only slightly.

All the commotion had drawn a crowd to the door and she could feel their eyes on her, judging her, shaming her. She heard more templars walk in, carefully stepping around her in a wide arc and assisting Carver in binding Samson before the sneering, venom spewing man was dragged off. His curses and slurs echoed out the door and Ebrisa felt the room empty again.

The spectators at the door remained. Samson was gone, but they remained, and they could only be doing so to stare at her. Did they think this was her fault? Did they think she swayed her hips and bit her lip and arched her neck in invitation like Samson did? Did they think she deserved this? Oh Maker, she didn't want this. She hadn't asked for this. How had this happened?

Then a voice cut through the murmuring, a figure cut through the crowd, a presence cut through the darkness.

“Clear out of here, all of you!” Cullen bellowed, swiping a sharp hand through the air. “Return to your duties and if I catch so much as a whisper of gossip, I'll put every last one of you on wyvern detail!” The threat of cleaning up after Leopold was severe enough to have the templars scrambling away wordlessly.

The door clicked closed and Ebrisa jumped like she did when Samson first entered, but no, this wasn't him. Foot steps approached, cautiously slow, but steady, and nothing like Samson's stumbling run to the lyrium supply. A man knelt down beside her, close enough to touch her if he reached out, but far enough that she could escape if she needed to. This wasn't Samson, this man wasn't going to hurt her.

Cullen lifted his hand, then pulled it back. “Ebrisa?” His voice was so soft, so full of concern, and so different from the bitter voice snarling at her earlier. “Are you...?” _Are you alright_ was clearly what he meant to say, but he'd stopped short once the stupidity of the question set in. She was certainly not alright. “Did he...?”

That one was harder to fill in. _Did he touch you? Did he hurt you? Did he violate you?_ The answer was both yes and no to each of those in varying degrees and Ebrisa didn't know how to respond to his questions if he never finished them.

A ragged breath shook out of Cullen's lungs and he ran a hand through his hair, struggling with his questions as much as she was. “Ebrisa, just... just tell me what you need, and I'll do my best.”

Ebrisa could only think of one thing she needed and slowly detangled herself from the shelf support. She turned to Cullen, keeping her eyes low so she wouldn't see whatever disgust or revulsion sprang to his face at her appearance. She heard a sharp inhale of breath followed by a muffled growl of anger and knew he was not pleased with what he saw. Still, he asked for what she needed.

“Will you hold me?”

Cullen stilled, surprised by her request. “You want... are you certain? I would think that after... after _that_ , you wouldn't want any man to touch you.”

She shook her head. “Not any man. Just you.”

What she needed.

“Please, Cullen. I need to feel safe.” Ebrisa dared a glance up, clutching the fabric over her chest and hoping the man beside her would grant her selfish request.

There was no contempt in his warm, honey eyes, no malice in his soft, sympathetic smile. “I'll do my best,” he whispered, settling into a sitting position on the floor and holding out an arm in invitation.

“Your best has always been more than enough.” Ebrisa surprised even herself with how greedy she was for his comfort, crawling into Cullen's lap and immediately curling against his chest. If he was repulsed or offended by her behavior, Cullen made no show of it beyond the initial, involuntary flinch. Slowly, carefully, he brought his arms in to hold her and settled his head on top of her own. She felt surrounded by his warmth, encased in his presence.

She felt safe, and it was exactly what she needed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The cell block had been unused since the annulment. There were no suspicious mages to lock up, no soldier who spoke out against their commander, and stationing anyone to guard the area had been pointless. It _had been_ , but now Cullen had tasked Leon with finding a few suitable men to watch over the first prisoner the place had seen in over a year.

Cullen waited several hours before going to Samson's cell. Part of the reason was strategic, letting the lyrium-craving man stew in the cold solitude, but it was also incredibly necessary so Cullen wouldn't fly into a rage at the mere sight of him. Cullen had run the full gambit of emotions from the time Marian scrambled into his office to the moment he comforted Ebrisa in his arms. He apologized against her hair and when Ebrisa tried to tell him it wasn't his fault, Cullen clarified.

“The coin didn't bring you any good luck.” He'd spotted the cord around her neck when he'd done a brief inspection for bruises and other physical signs of harm, surprised and honored that she was actually wearing it.

Ebrisa shook her head against his cuirass, rocking her cheek along the coolness of his armor. “It did. You came.”

He didn't ask Ebrisa any questions, letting her say only what she felt comfortable with and only when she wanted. Carver gave as much of a report as he could, but coming in at the end of the assault left a lot of things unclear. From what Cullen was told and what he could see with his own eyes, Samson had wanted lyrium and violently acted out when denied. These were not the actions of a templar knight. These were the actions of an addict. Samson used to be a good man, but Cullen had heard stories from his exile, how he sometimes sold mages to slavers for coin to pay off lyrium smugglers. He had hoped that part of the man's life was behind him, but it appeared Samson was just as desperate and immoral as before.

Despite the time he took to collect himself, Cullen still felt a white hot flash of anger the moment he laid eyes on Samson in his cell. The other man was sitting against the far wall, hands bound in front of him and elbows perched on his spread out knees. He looked agitated and annoyed, as if his detainment was completely undeserved and he had better things to do.

Samson perked up as Cullen entered, rolling his head to the side and sighing in exasperation. “Finally. I was beginning to think no one of import knew I was down here.” He shifted away from the wall, spreading out his hands. “Frankly, the Hawke boy was confused. This is all a big misunderstanding, Knight-Commander.”

“Oh?” Cullen worked hard to keep the contempt from his voice. “By all means, do set the matter straight.”

“It's like this,” Samson began, having wisely used his time alone to construct a story. “First Enchanter asked me to meet her. I had to make an excuse to leave in the middle of duty, but it was essentially an order, so I had to comply.”

“She asked you to meet her?”

“She did.”

“While she was working inventory?”

Samson shrugged. “She's got no personal quarters and her office is across from yours. Might have been the only place she could think of for our dalliance.”

Cullen's impassive demeanor crumbled, but he managed to reign most of it back. “Your _what_?”

“Now I know templars aren't supposed to have relations with mages, but she threw herself at me.” Samson attempted to sound disappointed in himself. “I tried resist, but no man could possibly turn down a fine piece of ass like that.”

A twitch in Cullen's hand, the setting of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes – all silent clues to the commander's building fury that Samson missed.

“Honestly, she begged me for it, the little wanton whore. Bitch must have corrupted half the barracks by-” Samson's words were cut short in a startled shout as Cullen yanked him up by his shirt and slammed him solidly against the wall.

Cullen leaned in without letting go, pressing his vambrace against the other man's chest and barely restraining a growl. “ _Lies._ ” The word rumbled angrily through him, his wrath brought to light in that one, short sentence.

Samson snorted at the reaction. “What? Did you think you were her only one? _Never trust a mage_ , right, Knight-Commander?”

Cullen stopped, taking a calming breath, and released Samson. He had to stay focused, he had to keep himself in check. This was not about what Samson was now saying, it was about what he had done. A templar had assaulted the First Enchanter, which was grounds enough for sever punishment without taking the nature of that assault into consideration. Emotions had no place here and Cullen had to deal in facts.

“If it makes you feel better, I think you're her favorite.” Samson chuckled, not knowing when to stop. “She kept mewling your name while I was on top of her.”

Red claimed Cullen's vision and he let a fist fly, slamming it into Samson's face and sending the prisoner back to the floor. He didn't let up and followed the man down, stooping over Samson and punching repeatedly as curses he couldn't control ripped from his throat.

_You son of a bitch!_

_Void take your fucking hide!_

_How dare you lay a hand on her!_

It wasn't until someone caught his arm and physically prevented the next swing that Cullen stopped. His knuckles ached and his breath came out in angry pants, entire body still shaking in rage, but he knew he had erred. He tore his arm free of Leon's grip and pushed back to his feet, sparing a single glance at the groaning Samson on the floor and feeling it both wasn't enough and had gone too far. He should have been above such action. He should have shown more restraint.

He should have hit him harder.

“See that the prisoner is given food and water,” Cullen ordered as he turned away, heading for the door.

“Knight-Commander,” Leon called out, stopping Cullen momentarily. “His face is badly injured.”

“It's an improvement.”

Once the knight-commander was gone, Leon turned his attention back to Samson who was busy spitting blood onto the floor. “Say what you like about Meredith, but she never struck her men.”

“He's taking the word of a blighted mage over a templar,” Samson sneered.

Leon frowned heavily, looking out into the empty doorway. “The boy is out of his depth.”

 


	14. Escalation

Ebrisa fell asleep in Cullen's arms shamefully quickly. His safe presence, his soothing warmth, and his gently murmured words against her hair had all proved too much to resist and before long the enchanter was in the Fade. There, Mother was beside her in an instant, checking Ebrisa for harm and acting so frightened and frantic that the peace Cullen had given her chipped away.

“I'm so sorry, dear one,” Mother repeated over and over once she noticed the effect she was having. “He'll never hurt you like that again.” The spirit wrapped her arms around Ebrisa, cradling the enchanter's head against her chest protectively. “ _No one_ will hurt you like that again. I won't let them, sweetling.” There was a dark tone in the spirit's voice, making her promise more unnerving than comforting.

When she awoke, Ebrisa was in her bed and Moira was sitting across the room on her own. It didn't take long for Ebrisa to realize she'd been carried across half the Gallows asleep in the knight-commander's arms and she didn't know which part of that made her more embarrassed.

Moira looked up from the book she was reading when she heard the other woman stir and dog-eared the page before setting it down. “There's a fresh set of robes on your footlocker. Don't worry, the knight-commander didn't go hunting for your small clothes, he left that up to me.”

“I-I see...” Ebrisa took the time to study the state of her current uniform, trying to determine if it could be repaired. The tears were long and would require lots of heavy stitches, making them noticeable and serve as a reminder of what caused the damage. She wondered how practical it would be to burn them instead.

“I've also been instructed to escort you to the baths, if you want to take one.” Moira slipped off her bed and yanked a clean shift from the top bunk. She held it out towards the enchanter, face as impassive as always, but eyes just a little concerned.

It made Ebrisa wonder just how much her bunkmate knew, how much the Circle knew, how much Cullen knew. She'd barely told him anything, and he didn't really ask. Ebrisa had been glad for it at the time, but now she feared what conclusions he might have drawn. These thoughts consumed her as she followed Moira to the baths, they haunted her as she washed her scratched and bruised skin, and they mocked her as she dawned the uniform of her station.

Samson may not have stolen her maidenhood, but he certainly ruined whatever confidence and sense of authority Ebrisa had built up over the past year.

 

The next day, Ebrisa kept to the Tranquil. She didn't want to feel alone, but she couldn't stand the looks others were giving her, so keeping the company of people incapable of harboring feelings of revulsion, pity, or contempt was the best course of action. She worked with them to replace the tonics lost during her rescue, acting as silent and solemn as they were. If the Tranquil could feel unnerved by her behavior, they would have been.

“First Enchanter,” a templar called from the doorway, voice a little shaky. “Sorry to bother you while you're working, but we thought you ought to know.”

She turned to the knight, a sense of dread seeping in. “What is it, Ser Hann?” Had Samson's judgment been passed already?

“A cave in, down below.” He pointed to the ground with his finger, as though she might not have understood what _down below_ meant. “The wyvern must have tried to get through a passage too small and knocked rocks loose. It's trapped under some rubble.”

Ebrisa immediately set down her work, instructing another to take over. “Please, show me,” she urged the templar, pushing her own concerns aside in favor of aiding her scaly friend. The knight nodded stiffly and lead the way though the Gallows and down into the tunnels.

Not a word was passed between them as they moved, Hann pausing a few times at junctions to ensure they went the right way. When they arrived at a particularly narrow opening, he waved her ahead. “Just through here, First Enchanter.”

She should have recognized that this spot of the caverns had only one entrance. She should have noticed that Leopold wasn't making a sound. She should have realized that the stiff and nervous man was lying. Ebrisa didn't do any of those things until it was too late.

As soon as she stepped into the small chamber, Ebrisa felt the wave cut through her, ripping the magic and strength from her body. She crumbled to the stone floor, eyes focusing on a patch of deep mushroom by the wall before a menacing voice drew her attention.

“Hard to believe a predictable fool like this has tricked so many,” Leon sneered. “Even Meredith was blinded by her _charms_ until that final moment of clarity.”

Ebrisa looked around the chamber as best she could, finding two more knights beside Leon and... and Samson.

“We'll finish the annulment and finally be rid of this corruption,” Samson agreed. His face was covered in red and purple blotches and the angle of his nose seemed slightly off, but there was no mistaking the man.

“The boy has proven that he is too easily tempted and ill-fit to lead. The Templar Order needs a stronger hand, if we are to recover from the humiliation Kirkwall has suffered.” Leon nodded at his men, the three soldiers withdrawing swords and stalking towards the mage. “Kill her, than we kill him. The others will fall in line easily enough.”

Fear shot up Ebrisa's immobile frame, not just for herself, but for Cullen. Leon and him hadn't seen eye-to-eye, but she never dreamed the man would conspire with a prisoner to overthrow him. Cullen was determined and caring, he was exactly what the Gallows needed. Leon was short-sighted and bitter, he was exactly what had been wrong with the Gallows before. If a man like him took control while Kirkwall was still trying so hard to recover, then the city never would.

The soldiers drew closer and still she could not move, mind too groggy to perform any spell even if she did have the magic to cast it. She hated this feeling of being helpless and seeing Samson smugly leaning against a stalagmite brought back all her fears from the day before. Was it so wrong to hope these traitors would kill her before Samson finished what he started?

Heat encompassed the mage, coming from inside her despite being disconnected from her magic, and in the blink of an eye fire erupted outward, hot and angry. It spiraled in a wall of flame, catching two of the templars and engulfing the third – the man who lured her into this trap. He was incinerated near instantly, hardly given time to scream as his flesh burned and cooked inside his armor while the other two rolled around on the ground in an attempt to put out the flames.

“Abomination,” Leon hissed, slipping on his shield to ward off the fire, despite it retracting to form a tight circle around the woman.

Samson rubbed at his eyes, trying to remove the supposed hallucination. “You cleansed her. You did, didn't you?”

“Of course I did!” Leon snapped. “She's obviously made pack with some demon for protection!” A lick of flame snapped out towards them like a whip, keeping the men back.

A roar cut through the air, disorienting the templars momentarily as scratching noises and the sound of tumbling rocks echoed around them. Samson looked up at the narrow entrance, higher to where it expanded between the dripping rock formations on the ceiling and floor, and felt a new sense of dread run through him. “Fucking Void...” he muttered.

Leopold climbed through the entrance, claws digging into the rock and pulling himself along the tight passage. The wyvern roared again, then spat venom at the soldiers. Leon blocked it with his shield, glaring at Samson from behind the metal. “I thought you said the beast couldn't get in here!”

“I didn't think he could,” Samson shot back.

The burned men climbed to their feet, looking between the inferno protected mage and the wyvern before casting their superior an apologetic grimace and running off.

“Cowards!” Leon shouted, unsheathing his sword and facing Leopold just as the creature dropped to the ground, placing itself between the mage and the remaining templars.

The creature was clearly conflicted, having been taught that people wearing templar armor were to be trusted, but also sensing that they meant the woman behind him harm. He roared and growled, swatted his claws and snapped his teeth, but didn't try to kill them. Leopold's offensive strikes kept Samson and Leon on the defensive, the space too small for the men to try and flank the creature and they stayed pinned in their corner until more templars arrived.

Knight-Captain Barclay lead the small group, having been grabbed by one of the injured knights that fled earlier, and was fully prepared to subdue the _out of control_ wyvern. What he was not prepared for was the scene that lay before him: Ebrisa surrounded in a ring of fire, the blackened remains of a templar, and a knight-lieutenant standing side-by-side with the prisoner he was supposed to be watching in the cell block.

“It would seem our injured brothers were not entirely truthful about what had transpired down here,” Barclay called out, alerting the boxed in traitors to his presence. He walked cautiously up to the edge of Ebrisa's barrier, looking at it and her curiously. “First Enchanter, its alright now. We will deal with these men.”

“Ser Barclay?” Ebrisa tried to sit herself up and her ebbing fear caused the flames to dwindle as well. She looked over at the corpse not two yards away and knew instantly it had been her doing. She... she had killed him.

The knight-captain instructed his men to round Leopold and arrest the traitors, watching their progress and relieved to see the wyvern was behaving as he always had – a bit snappy, but controlled. Leon and Samson were dragged away, forced back through the passage and out the tunnels, but Barclay lingered behind to wait for the enchanter.

“I... I didn't mean to...” Ebrisa mumbled, eyes still fixed on the scorched, slightly melted armor and the blackened remains inside. “I don't even know how I...” She felt like a little girl again, being scolded by her mother for setting that fire in the Chantry. She'd come so far, worked so hard on her control. She didn't like using her magic to harm, and she had used it to kill someone she shared a home with. Someone she took care of. Someone she had trusted. “I didn't mean...”

“You acted in self defense, First Enchanter.” Barclay spoke gently, but matter-of-factly, at her side. “While I do not yet know the extent of this plot, it is clear those men meant you harm. No one will fault you for this.”

Ebrisa tore her eyes away from the corpse and looked to Leopold, the wyvern tilting his head and releasing an inquisitive rumble. She gave him an appreciative half-smile, then dropped her eyes and her expression.

No one will fault her?

She certainly did.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
This was turning out to be one of the longest days in Cullen's life. He stared at the papers before him, recognizing that they were covered in words but being unable to decipher a single one. Ebrisa had been attacked again less than 24 hours after the first assault, but this one could not be so easily categorized as the lyrium-addled actions of an immoral addict, this was premeditated by several culprits in complete control of their mental faculties. This was a group of trained warriors plotting to murder their first enchanter, and that had many negative implications.

Leon had never liked mages and Samson was clearly keen on removing the only person who could refute his version of events the day prior, but how long did they have to look to find accomplices? How difficult was it to convince the others to follow their plan instead of reporting them? How many others in the Gallows were harboring similar thoughts? How long would those thoughts remain silent?

A timid knock on his door broke Cullen from his lack of concentration and he looked up, startled to find Ebrisa standing there with papers in hand. He hadn't expected to see her in his office, especially unescorted, and he leaned to the side in an attempt to see further into the corridor behind her.

“Where's Ser Audrey?” Cullen had assigned the other women in Ebrisa's bunk on a rotating guard duty over her and the absence was concerning.

“Reporting to her previous assignment,” Ebrisa answered quietly as she walked up to the desk. “I appreciate the concern, but you needn't worry about my safety.”

Cullen frowned, more than displeased by the woman's dismissal. “You can let me worry about you a little,” he grumbled. A small voice in his mind admonished him for saying that out loud, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care what anyone thought of the comment – not even his better judgment.

She gave him a soft, half-smile and a short nod. “I can grant you that.” Ebrisa tightened her grip on the papers and the crinkling brought them back to her attention. She stared down at them and exhaled through her nose, frown overtaking her shy expression. “Though, after you read my report, you may not feel inclined to do so.”

“You needn't have filed a report, but I will see that Barclay gets it.” Cullen held out a hand and accepted the papers, his words drawing confusion from the enchanter. He tapped the small stack against his desk to straighten them, focusing on that as he found the right words. “I am deferring to the knight-captain on this matter as I am... too close to be objective.” Ebrisa was not a fan of violence, especially for her sake, and Cullen wondered what she would think if she discovered he'd pummeled Samson the day before.

“Of course,” Ebrisa sighed, as thought it were obvious. “It would be difficult to judge their actions when the plot was against you as well.”

“Yes,” he mumbled, trying to keep the surprise from his voice. Cullen hadn't been aware of that and it made his earlier questions all the more confusing. If there were truly so many concerned about how he and Ebrisa were running this Circle, then why were templars staying? There had been no transfer requests, no formal complaints, no rumors brought to his attention. Perhaps Leon's views where not the majority after all.

“And... and what of my actions?” Ebrisa worried on her bottom lip, then caught herself performing the action and pressed her lips into a firm line. Cullen found it strange, but was too concerned with her statement to address it.

“What about your actions?”

The woman wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “I... I killed Ser Hann,” she clarified, voice heavy with shame and remorse. “He was probably just following orders, just doing what his superior told him to, and I-”

“-Acted in self-defense,” Cullen finished for her. He set down the papers and stood up, moving around his desk until he was by her side. “Ebrisa, _your_ actions are not on trial here. You've nothing to be ashamed of.” He reached out to touch her arm, a comforting gesture she so often performed on him, but the woman recoiled and brought up her hands between them in warding.

“Please, don't,” she whispered. “I... I don't want to hurt you.”

“And I trust that you won't,” he slowly replied, watching the woman tense and drop her gaze.

“ _I_ don't.” Ebrisa took a shaky breath in and a tentative step back. “I was cleansed, Cullen, I could barely move. There was no way I should have been able to cast anything – especially anything that strong – but I did. How can I know that I won't hurt you if I don't know how I hurt him?” She brought a hand to her mouth, fingers muffling her words, but Cullen could still make them out. “Maker, if I ever hurt you, I'd never forgive myself.”

He moved away from the enchanter, giving her the space she was asking for, but only long enough to close the door. “Being severed from the Fade two days in a row could have any number of side effects.” Cullen was not ignorant to the fact that less-noble templars abused their power, but he couldn't say with any certainty if the magic that erupted in the tunnels was a result of too frequent cleansing. Those sort of things weren't exactly documented for posterity.

Ebrisa shook her head, rejecting the idea. “It was too orderly to be a fluke. There was definitely a hand guiding it.” She stilled, eyes widening in horror. “It... it wasn't my hand, wasn't my consciousness. Was it a demon? Am... am I truly an abomination?”

“That's absurd,” Cullen snapped, as though angry she would even think such a thing. “Ebrisa, I know you. I know you would never make pact with a demon – especially for personal gain. There's no possible way you could be an abomination.”

She chewed on her lip worriedly, then once again forced herself to stop. “But there is a way.”

“I'm fairly certain demons need permission to inhabit people, and you would never give permission.”

“That's it exactly,” Ebrisa said, almost in a whimper. “I wouldn't give permission for my spirit companions to heal me after Meredith's attack. They told me if they acted without it, I could turn.”

The air in the room went cold, a chill running up Cullen's spine as he stared at the frightened woman before him. He must have heard wrong. “You what?”

“I could become an abomination if they ignored my wishes and healed me,” Ebrisa reiterated, voice quiet.

“That's not what I'm talking about,” Cullen mumbled, hurt and confusion lacing his words. “You told them _no_? Ebrisa, why wouldn't you let them heal you?” Didn't she know how injured she was? How close she was to death? Memories of that horrible night came flooding back. Ebrisa on her knees, baring her neck for execution. Ebrisa trying to brush past his shielding from Meredith. Ebrisa's quiet resignation and sad eyes. “Did,” he softly began, “did you _want_ to die?”

When she didn't answer right away, Cullen felt his heart drop all the way to the floor. Looking back on the months leading up to the annulment, at the pain and loss Ebrisa suffered, at the foolish way he treated her, and Cullen could begin to see why she wouldn't want any of that to continue. What he couldn't see, is why she thought death was the only way to achieve that.

“I was being selfish,” she relented. “Everything just seemed so... pointless that night.”

“But not anymore?” He sounded desperate, he knew he did, but Cullen couldn't be bothered to care. If Ebrisa still harbored any of those feelings, he would make it his top priority to rid her of them.

Her immediate head shake brought a sigh of relief to the templar's lips. “I wasn't thinking clearly, but now I know better. That's why I'm so concerned about what I might be.”

With one issue taken care of, Cullen tried to settle the other. “You are no abomination. It was Merrill, not your spirit aides, that began the mending that night.”

A look of understanding passed over the woman's face, Merrill's insistence on seeing her scar now making perfect sense. “Haren Merrill never mentioned it, or her healing skills.”

“It was fairly rudimentary,” Cullen awkwardly added, carefully walking the line between lying and letting his secret slip. “She could only do so much.”

“So you don't think I'm an abomination?”

“I do not,” Cullen confirmed with a shake for extra emphasis. Just as he thought the matter settled, Ebrisa spoke again.

“But if I was possessed, would you...?”

Cullen tensed, hating the hypothetical question. What was he supposed to say to that? _Yes, I'd kill you. No, I'd let you lose yourself. Yes, I'd stop you from hurting others. No, I'd stand by as innocents died by your hand._ He had no clue, and the pain in his voice reflected his conflicting thoughts. “Please, don't ask me this.”

Her eyes looked down at his desk, falling on a report and trying to read the upside-down words in an attempt to distract herself. “I think I know the answer...”

“I don't think you do,” Cullen argued, brushing his hand against her cheek and turning her face away from the papers back towards him. He knew that Ebrisa wouldn't want to be responsible for harming others – this most recent conversation solidifying the fact in his mind – but if he was actually faced with a demon wearing her skin, Cullen didn't know if he could run his sword through her heart without piercing his own in the same stroke. He'd seen so many mages turn, lose themselves, but knowing that Ebrisa was no longer inside – no longer in control – would not make the task any easier. If that ever happened, no matter what action he took, Cullen knew it would break him. “It's not that simple, and I... I would rather not think about it.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, taking a moment to settled her frazzled nerves. “Nothing in our lives is simple, is it?”

Cullen watched her nuzzle his hand, watched the faint blush bloom over her cheeks and her lips part to release a silent sigh. “No,” he agreed, barely able to hear his own voice over the thumping of his heart. “Nothing is.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like reusing DAI dialogue, even as I tweak it.


	15. Consequences

Boosted by Cullen's assurances and sincere confidence in her, Ebrisa reached out to her long absent companions. It took the rest of the day to do it, but eventually Sympathy responded, the connection as strong as ever, and Ebrisa took great comfort in the soothing presence. After canceling the link and resting, the enchanter spent several more hours looking for Belief. The spirit was a little apprehensive, but that hesitation faded a few minutes later and Ebrisa breathed a sigh of relief. Neither of the spirits had changed or changed her, but she wondered why it had been so difficult for her companions to answer. She could not communicate with them while she was awake, so Ebrisa went to sleep early in hopes of asking them in her dreams.

The spirits of compassion and faith did not join her in the Fade fortress, but Mother was by her side in an instant, fussing over her worriedly. “He was there again, wasn't he? I felt your fear, your thoughts. Did he touch you?”

Ebrisa shook her head, carefully constructing her response. “He was, but this time was different. They meant to kill me, but they couldn't get close.”

Mother smiled widely, cupping the enchanter's face. “Oh, good. Good, good, good.”

Ebrisa gently took hold of the spirit's wrists and pulled them away, freeing herself from the almost painful grip. “Mother, do you remember Sympathy and Belief? How they used to visit me here as well?”

The spirit frowned, but nodded. “I remember. They are not welcome anymore.”

“Why is that?” She had not sensed any corruption or alteration to their nature, nothing in them that was different from before. For what reason would Mother ban the previously approved spirits?

Mother scowled at the rug, frown deepening. “They are weak willed. They won't do what is necessary to keep you safe.” She looked up swiftly, expression once again sweet and affectionate. “But I can! I promised you, didn't I?”

The truth that Ebrisa had been trying to dismiss finally overwhelmed her and the enchanter took a cautious step back. “It was you. The fire...”

Mother tilted her head, smile spreading. “I promised no one would hurt you, sweetling, and I keep my promises.”

Unable to fathom the _how_ , Ebrisa focused on the _what_. “You killed Ser Hann and seriously injured two others! You can not kill – for my sake or anyone's!”

“They meant you harm,” Mother replied coolly. “I could not permit that.” Gone was the caring, worried spirit and in its place stood a cold, sneering visage of hate. “These templars use you, belittle you, and are far too quick to dispose of you whenever the fancy takes them. I could not permit that, and I will end as many as it takes to keep you safe.”

Ebrisa could not deny that the spirit had been a little strange since the annulment, but Mother had never been very skilled with healing, so Ebrisa dismissed the notion that the spirit had anything to do with it. That did not mean that the event had left the spirit unscathed and Ebrisa wondered if it would have been better if Mother had gone away like the others. The spirit needed to soothe whatever scar had been etched into its nature, but its protectiveness of Ebrisa kept it at her side. Why had Ebrisa not addressed the shift in behavior prior to now? If she had, would the spirit have become so violent? Would it have been able to break through the Veil and attack those templars? Was she looking at the wrong spirit all this time?

“Mother,” Ebrisa began in a quiet voice, fearing the reply she would get. “Have you possessed me? Am I an abomination?”

The speed at which the spirit switched back to its previous worried demeanor was frightening. “No, dear one! No, never!” Mother lifted her hands, as though she wanted to embrace the enchanter, but clenched them in her skirts instead. “I would never defile you, never take advantage of you like that. I swear upon my affection that you remain pure.”

With all possibilities finally refuted, Ebrisa was beginning to believe that. “So, we are not bound?”

“Not in the common sense, but we do have a connection.” Mother winced as she noticed the flash of fear pass over the enchanter's face. “I meant only that we share similar histories!”

“Histories?”

Mother nodded, closing her eyes and setting a delicate hand on her chest. “I was born to a noble family, and just like yours, they were fearful of magic. They felt it tainted the family name and Father sent me to the small Circle in Hasmal where none had even heard of them. I know what it is like to be ostracized by those you love because of what you are, and it broke my heart to see it happening to you as well.”

“So you became close to me to help ease the pain you suffered.” Ebrisa looked the spirit over slowly, wondering why it still clung to its former existence so strongly. Every other spirit she had encountered seemed to embrace their new nature, forgetting the life they had, but Mother's motives were still very much directed by who she was before. “What was your name?”

The spirit lowered her head in apparent embarrassment. “Renata, like one of the Divines. Presumptuous, I know, but it is a sort of tradition in my family.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It should not have been a surprise when the two templars burned by Ebrisa's guardian spirit refused the enchanter's aid, but she had been taken aback all the same. Their burns were severe, but not life threatening, and the Tranquil spent nearly a full week applying salves and administering tonics before the soldiers were no longer suffering physical pain from the forever marred skin. In that stretch of time, Leon and Samson remained in their cold cells, going over all the amendments they wish could have been made to their hastily executed plot against the Gallows' leaders.

Barclay conducted a thorough investigation and felt confident that there were no additional conspirators, turning his findings in to Cullen. The knight-commander was still infuriated by the entire affair and once again referred to Barclay, this time concerning the punishment. It was not a task the knight-captain took lightly and he did not rush to judgment, taking several factors into consideration. Under Meredith's regime, there would have been no deliberation or hesitation before executing the traitors and stringing them up as a grim reminder. Thank the Maker this was not Meredith's regime any longer.

 

It was early in the morning when all four of the prisoners were brought to the Templar Hall's courtyard to stand for sentencing. Cullen and Ebrisa stood at the top of the far stairs to overlook the proceedings as procedure dictated while the side of the yard was lined with curious, templar spectators. The audience were not large in number, due mostly to the early hour, and that was precisely why the time had been selected. This was a serious matter, not a circus, and none of the presiding members wanted to see it dissolve into one.

Barclay stood at attention on the center of the stairs with the bound prisoners at the base. He turned to look behind him and Cullen gave a short nod, giving his consent for Barclay to begin. The knight-captain took a steadying breath, then called out to the assembled templars.

“Knight-Lieutenant Artur Leon, Ser Raleigh Samson, Ser Elric Larson, Ser Clemens Mayer. You four stand accused of conspiracy against the knight-commander, attempted murder of the first enchanter, and treason against the Chantry.”

Leon opened his mouth, as though to protest the final charge, but Barclay continued without missing a beat.

“Knight-Commander Cullen and First Enchanter Ebrisa were appointed by Divine Justinia V herself. Any non-sanctioned action taken to remove either from their positions is an obvious affront to the Chantry.”

Cullen barely restrained quirking his brow at that. It had not occurred to him that being traitors to the Gallows also made the accused traitors to the Chantry. Circles were run by the Chantry and the Templar Order was it's militaristic arm, but he had not thought to extend the charges like that. His second had clearly given a lot of thought to the failed plot.

“In addition,” Barclay added, “Ser Raleigh Samson is charged with sexual assault against the first enchanter.”

At that, Samson did manage a grumbling protest. “Still had my damn trousers on.”

Ebrisa visibly tensed at the mention, having hoped that her first attack could have gone unvoiced publicly, and Cullen understood her reaction – if the entirety of the Gallows hadn't known before, they surely would now. He stood at her side, hands behind him, but at the sign of her discomfort Cullen subtlety shifted one to lightly press against the small of her back. It was a brief contact and it was all he could afford at the moment, but Cullen hoped it had been enough to remind the woman he was there. He couldn't look at her to see if the gesture had the calming effect he'd hoped for, but he felt the tension in her muscles relax against his fingertips.

“I have conducted an investigation and find all of you guilty on each count.” Barclay paused, taking a moment to prepare himself as the crowd murmured quietly. It was not an unexpected decision, but guilty verdicts always brought out a few whispers from the gallery. “You are hereby stripped of your ranks and commissions, and sentenced to exile from the city effective immediately.”

That time, the gallery did more than whisper.

Shocked voices rang out around the yard, some claiming the punishment too soft and others deeming it too harsh. Cullen was with the first group, pressing his lips into a firm line to keep his expression relatively neutral. He had left the entire matter up to Barclay because he feared he couldn't trust himself to be fair, but clearly the knight-captain did not take the assignment seriously enough. Exile? _Exile?!_ It was absurd! The traitors agreed, though for a completely different reason.

“It's the dead of winter,” Leon protested. “To exile us from the city now will force us into the mountains!”

“You will be given a small supply of provisions.” Barclay motioned to the open storeroom nearby, two packs already filled and resting against the door.

“You send us to our deaths because of a fucking mage!” Samson shouted, enraged to have found himself in this predicament.

It was considerably harder for Cullen to stay still at that outburst.

“My original intent was to execute you here, and I would have gladly dealt the blows myself.” Barclay turned his head and glanced briefly up the stairs before returning his focus on the prisoners. “It is only by the first enchanter's request that you not be slain. She voiced a desire for no further bloodshed.”

Of _course_ she had. Cullen cast a sidelong glance at the enchanter, an irrational anger stirring inside him. After what those men had done to her – after what _Samson_ had done to her – how could Ebrisa possibly let them live? How could she plead for leniency on their behalf?

Leon snorted, pulling the crowd's attention back to him. “You mean to say she does not want more templar blood on her hands, does not want to face the end result of her actions, so she can pretend to be righteous even now.” He looked up the stairs, scowling eyes filled with hate. “A long, suffering death? How very merciful, First Enchanter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
First Day passed with an awkward tension and Ebrisa understandably excused herself from the holiday. Part of Cullen worried that her absence would be the new norm as she had grown a bit reclusive since the attacks and even more so since the sentencing. He couldn't fault her for it, but that didn't mean that he wasn't uneased each time he looked up from his desk and saw her closed door.

When he did see her, Cullen noticed a few small, but very intentional changes. She wore her hair lower, buns gathering at the hairline and blocking her neck from all but a front-facing view. Her steps were slower and more deliberately even, the woman seemingly making a conscious effort to step on each foot with the same force and pacing instead of her gait hitting the right a little harder like it had before. Most noticeably, most obviously, was her over-compensation each time she began to bite her lower lip.

Cullen wasn't certain, but he suspected it had to do with something Samson had said or done and the very idea that the man was still tormenting Ebrisa over a month later made Cullen want to track him down in the snow-covered mountains and pummel him all over again. It wouldn't make Ebrisa feel any better, however. If violence was what she needed to heal, then she would have let Barclay execute the traitors in the first place.

It still bothered him that Ebrisa had called for such a soft form of retribution. It wasn't right, it wasn't _just_ , and Cullen could no longer tell if he longed for a more severe punishment for her sake or his own. Despite the fact that Leon, Samson, Elric and Clemens were no longer in the Gallows, they _had_ been under his command. He gave them orders, assigned them duties, and supposedly supervised their actions. Meredith had not noticed the decent in her ranks when Thrask's coalition was operating, but she was going mad from red lyrium and drowning in paranoia. What was Cullen's excuse for being so blind?

He sighed heavily before heading into the cold kitchens. He'd worked through supper once again and after also skipping the mid-day meal, the man was hungry and desperate for whatever bit of food he could scrounge up. If he was lucky, the larder had been left unlocked. He usually wasn't lucky.

A few lanterns were curiously left burning and Cullen hoped that might mean the kitchen staff had thought of him and set something aside, but the quiet squeak of surprise that greeted him told another story. Ebrisa blinked at him, leaning on her elbows on the prep table and holding a tea cup with both hands, clearly not having expected to see anyone that time of night just as he hadn't.

“Cullen,” she whispered, as though the cooks were sleeping under the table instead of across the fortress in their beds. “What are you doing here so late?”

He couldn't help it, he smiled at her. She looked so much like her old self, like she had forgotten the anguish she'd suffered, that is warmed his heart. Cullen knew it was a fleeting moment, so he memorized the way she looked with her hair down and slightly mussed slipping over her bare shoulders as she stood in the dimly lit kitchen in the bottom layer of her robes. She looked relaxed, and it had been a long time since he'd seen her that way.

“Looking for a semi-meal,” he answered after filing away the scene in his memory. “You?”

Ebrisa lifted the cup in her hand a little higher. “Tea. My mind was too restless for sleep and too jumbled for work, so I hoped to alleviate at least one of those.” She set down her cup and stepped away to the dish storage. “Would you like some? It's chamomile.”

Cullen had never acquired a taste for tea, having only really had the medicinal kind in Fereldan when he was ill, though he wasn't about to decline when Ebrisa was offering to share. “Ah, yes, thank you. I was hoping for something more substantial than hot plant water, however.”

She set another cup on the prep table and filled it from the small tea pot nearby, a smile breaking its way across her lips. “Let me get my keys and see what we have.”

“Wait, you have a key for the larder?” Cullen folded his arms, feigning annoyance. “I don't have a key for the larder.”

It had the desired affect and Ebrisa giggled softly. “Perhaps if you didn't try to ransack the food stores at all hours, then you would have one too.”

“I'm offended,” Cullen mock-grumbled. “Its almost as though you don't trust me.”

Ebrisa stilled, clutching her key ring in both hands, and looked Cullen in the eye. “I do trust you,” she said earnestly. “I trust you more than anyone, Cullen.”

When he walked into the kitchen, he was hoping for some bread and cheese – maybe an apple left over from the tarts a few weeks ago – but finding Ebrisa instead put all thought of hunger from his mind. Being able to talk with her like this again, to exchange their teasing banter without it feeling forced, was far better than anything he could have expected to dig up in the larder.

“I'll do my best to be worthy of that,” he replied after a heavy silence passed between them.

Ebrisa dropped her eyes to the keys in her hands and sifted through them as she moved to the food storage. “Your best has always been more than enough.”

Cullen doubted that each time she said it, but for the first time he took it with a different meaning. _It's enough that you try._ He watched the enchanter until she disappeared into the larder, then turned his attention to the tea she poured for him. His mouth felt dry, but he restrained himself from gulping the hot liquid down and took a careful sip instead. It had a hint of apple, and he no longer cared what else he might eat that night.

 


	16. Ground Breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9:39 Dragon

The cold of winter melted into spring and as the frozen plants thawed and came back to life, so did Ebrisa's outlook. It was a slow and subtle change, like icicles dripping water and growing thinner until their own weight broke them free of the branch they'd been clinging to. By summer, Ebrisa was smiling easily again and by autumn, Cullen was no longer the only person who could elicit laughter from her. In fact, it was in large part Cullen's efforts and not time that had eased the guilt from the enchanter and banished the fear and unwarranted shame.

The late night snack in the beginning of the year had given Cullen an idea that he pushed for and implemented as quickly as possible. Ebrisa was concerned he had been skipping meals and working far too hard, ignoring the fact that she was also forgoing sleep in favor of duties.

“You're right,” Cullen awkwardly said, swirling the liquid in his half-empty tea cup. “A forced break would do us both some good. We could... do _this_.”

“This?” Ebrisa repeated curiously. “Midnight snacks?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of afternoon tea.”

Three times a week Ebrisa brought a tray to Cullen's office and he immediately put his work aside. They didn't talk much at first, using the break as an actual break and recollecting their patience and focus to get through the rest of the day. The enchanter soon discovered that Cullen was not familiar with tea, which made her wonder why he'd suggested it in the first place, but his lack of knowledge lead to discussions of the different varieties she had him try. Cullen found a lot of them awful, but he forced himself to always drink a full cup so Ebrisa wouldn't end their interaction early. After finding a few varieties Cullen did enjoy, Ebrisa started bringing in snacks. Sometimes sweet, sometimes savory, but they usually suited the tea well and Cullen couldn't help but wonder if this was yet another noblewoman skill that had been hammered into her brain at a young age.

Eventually, they incorporated other topics into the small talk and their conversations returned to the same lighthearted banter they used to have during chess. He was glad when she initiated the first tease of the day and even more so when his rusty attempt at flirting made her giggle. It had taken many long months of slow coaxing and gentle encouragement, but Cullen had brought Ebrisa back from her self-exile and it had been well worth the effort.

 

Cullen picked up one of the baked triangles and looked at it curiously, turning it as though his eyes were playing tricks on him initially. “What are these... purple bits?”

“Lavender,” Ebrisa softly identified as she poured the tea into their respective cups.

“The same plant you make your soaps and such with?” He dropped the shortbread back onto the plate and dusted off his hands to be rid of all trace of the cookie. “Maker's Breath, must this flower consume all aspects of your life?”

Ebrisa kept her head down, adding the warmed milk and honey to her cup without comment. Arl Grey was a blend Cullen liked quite a bit, but she always needed to make a few changes to find it suitable for herself.

“Shame to have a batch of cookies ruined at the last moment,” Cullen sighed, sounding genuinely disappointed to have one of his favorite treats tainted. “Which dullard in the kitchens thought that would be a good idea?”

The woman set down her spoon and picked up the plate, walking around the desk to the window. She slipped her arms through the wide bars and unceremoniously dumped the shortbread to the ground below. Ebrisa set the now empty plate back on the tray and picked up her tea, leaning against the desk and facing the open door as she raised the warm cup to her lips. “I'll try to be more considerate in the future,” she mumbled dejectedly.

Oh.

“Did you... tell them to add the lavender?” Cullen slowly asked, moving his own unaltered cup and saucer from the tray to rest in front of himself.

“I didn't tell anyone to do anything,” Ebrisa whispered to her tea.

Oh, no.

Cullen blanched slightly, realizing that the woman perched on the edge of his desk sulking had been the one baking that morning. He looked to the window with a grimace, wondering if the birds surely pecking at the cookies by now had shown the same initial hesitation he had. There was a single piece resting on Ebrisa's saucer, abandoned as she stared out the door and hid behind her cup, and Cullen quietly picked it up.

He took a cautious bite, bracing for a soapy taste, but found the shortbread anything but. It was buttery and tasted of lemon with earthy notes reminiscent of mint or rosemary, but sweet and a flavor all its own. As he went to take another bite, Cullen glanced up to find Ebrisa staring at him in surprise and remembered he'd stolen her cookie. “I, um, I was curious.” He moved to set the shortbread back on her saucer, but she lifted a hand.

“No, please, keep it.” She smiled timidly, dropping her eyes to the empty plate. “I made them for you, so...”

“Now I truly do feel like a right ass.” Cullen sighed at his own ineptitude. “Lead with that next time, and I will gladly eat whatever strange sounding food you offer.”

Ebrisa blushed slightly, tilting her cup and watching the milky liquid swish around as Cullen ate the rest of the cookie. “You mean that?”

He nodded, taking a sip of his tea and noticing the shortbread had actually complimented it quite well. “Clearly my Fereldan palate is not as advanced as yours.”

“Does that mean you have poor taste?” Ebrisa set down her cup and twisted on the desk to face him. She stilled, then giggled softly and leaned over the tray towards the templar.

Cullen froze as she drew closer and raised a hand to his facial hair. “I think I have impeccable taste where it counts,” he murmured as Ebrisa brushed her fingers beside his mouth.

She flicked her eyes up to meet his, cheeks flushing as she noticed their closeness. “There were crumbs...” she whispered, trying to explain her actions but not leaning away or removing her hand from his face. Ebrisa did break eye contact, but only to direct her focus back to Cullen's mouth. “I might have baked them too long... next time, I...” She traced her fingertips slowly across his bottom lip, making the faintest contact and sending shivers through the both of them. “I'll pay more attention...”

“Ebrisa...” His slightly husky voice had her locking eyes with him once again, but still she didn't pull away. They were so close. He'd barely have to move to erase the distance and capture her parted lips, and Ebrisa knew it too. The chair creaked as Cullen shifted his weight, beginning to lean forward.

“Got that corrected duty roster you wanted, Knight-Commander,” Garrett called out as he walked through the doorway. The blondes pulled away instantly, Ebrisa nearly slipping from the desk in her haste, but it was too late to have gone unnoticed. Garrett winced and smacked his head with the papers in his hand. “Andraste's Ass, I didn't mean to interrupt!” He grabbed the handle and backed out into the hall. “ _Damn it_...uh, please, continue!” Garrett close the door, then called through it, “Just pretend I'm not here!”

That was certainly impossible, and the moment had passed, but Cullen couldn't deny that there _had_ been a moment.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Ebrisa had been nervous all morning, resulting in her taking an absurd amount of time preparing for the day. She just couldn't get it out of her head how terribly forward she was the day before. Cullen had been a patient, caring friend and she had tried to monopolize on that by touching him so intimately and knowing he wouldn't push her away for fear of hurting her feelings. It was selfish, and improper, and, Maker forgive her, she wished Ser Garrett had shown up just a few minuets later. She wondered how long Cullen would have let her kiss him, wondered if he would kiss her back, wondered what he would say when she reluctantly pulled away for air.

Sweet Andraste, what was he going to say to her _now_? Her mind jumped back to that heartbreaking conversation on the coast two years prior after she kissed him, how he told her it was inappropriate and broke Chantry rules. But then she thought to something Cullen had said before he kissed _her_ on Satinalia, even if it had just been a Fereldan tradition to do so.

_“...some rules are meant to be broken.”_

Had he been saying he was willing to break those same Chantry rules that stopped him before? What if she'd read him wrong? What if his mind had changed now that there was no Meredith commanding him? What if all the time they spent working together had allowed him to view her in a different light? What if he cared for her as much as she cared for him?

The idea both elated and terrified her.

“ _There_ you are,” Cullen called out while locking his office, leaving the Templar Hall just as she was arriving.

Ebrisa stilled, feeling her nerves unravel all over again. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes. I mean, no.” He shook his head to dislodge the jumbled thoughts, then moved towards the enchanter. “Our presence is required in the city and if we don't head out soon, we'll be late.”

“The city?” She didn't even try to mask the uneasiness in her voice. “The both of us?”

Cullen stopped at her side long enough to offer an encouraging smile. “Yes, the both of us, which means I shall be with you every step of the way.” He touched the small of her back, lightly urging her forward. “We are summoned, First Enchanter.”

She nodded, swallowing her doubts. Whether Cullen saw her as a friend or as something more, Ebrisa had faith that he would keep her from harm. “Lead the way, Knight-Commander.”

When they arrived at the docks and started up to Lowtown, Ebrisa was struck with an odd sense of nostalgia. She recalled Cullen leading her through Kirkwall and getting lost in the unfamiliar streets, remembered the ease at which he had incapacitated the slavers that tried to kidnap her. She was seventeen and so naïve about so many things, and it could be argued she remained much the same despite now being in her early twenties. Ebrisa did not get separated from Cullen this time around, partially because his constant, stern surveying had the crowd parting for them and partially because he made it a point to walk at her side. Not in front so as to lead or behind to keep an eye on her, but at her side as equals.

On the steps to Hightown Ebrisa found herself sneaking glances at the templar and recalling their first ever bit of banter, her first time hearing him laugh and seeing the ghost of a smile play across his lips. He smiled at her so easily now that it was difficult to imagine a time when a scowl was his constant companion.

“Have I something on my face?” Cullen chuckled, catching her eyes in a sidelong glance. Perhaps Ebrisa wasn't as sneaky as she had thought.

“I'm just remembering the first time the two of us went into the city alone.” She readjusted her grip on her robes. “Coincidentally, it was also the last.”

Cullen frowned at the steps, searching his memory. “Just the once? Surely not.” After several moments of looking back, he realized she was correct. “Well, at least it was a very memorable trip.”

Ebrisa smiled at his smirking profile, a slight blush blooming across her cheeks. “Yes, it was.”

 

Hightown's market was relatively empty and many shops were shut down, making Ebrisa wonder where everyone was. As though sensing her question, Cullen finally explained why they had been summoned. “Today is the ground-breaking ceremony of the new cathedral.”

She turned to him sharply, the braided buns along the nape of her neck swaying with the movement. “Today? I didn't know it had already been rescheduled.” The event was supposed to take place on All Soul's Day, but the new grand cleric had issues adjusting to the climate change and fell ill. A sister came to the Gallows to request specific tonics that the clinics could not provide and Ebrisa had made them herself. She offered to examine the revered mother as well, but was denied.

That hadn't been the best way to start a working relationship and from the way the sister oversaw the construction of the tonics, Ebrisa knew the newer clergy were likely suspicious of her. It was, unfortunately, not surprising. While those who avoided the explosion had been working with her for years and Sebastian's early reassurances had gone a long way to ease them, the sisters and mothers being stationed in Kirkwall now didn't know her or the Starkhaven prince. To them, Ebrisa was just an enchanter who had survived the _Mage Rebellion of Kirkwall_.

Mage Rebellion. It was such a ridiculous thing to call what had happened, but that's what the outside world had dubbed the explosion and ensuing chaos. One mage working alone and one Circle defending itself from annihilation did not a rebellion make. The details didn't matter, only the notion that mages acted out against their _oppressors._ Ebrisa didn't like it, but what had happened in Kirkwall became a sort of rallying cry through the Circles. No matter how many letters she wrote explaining what had really occurred or how many rumors she tried to refute, Thedas had made its own decision and could not be dissuaded from it.

 

The masons had used the extra month wisely, taking the time to smooth out and re-tile the Chantry courtyard, giving the assembled masses something other than dirt to stand on while they waited. Hawke and Aveline were already standing by the base of where the Chantry's stairs used to be, the area behind them roped off and empty, and the guard-captain acknowledged the Gallows' leaders with a subtle incline of her head. Relieved to have arrived on time and before the clergy exited the abandoned estate they had commandeered for services, Cullen and Ebrisa joined the other city officials.

Hawke looked so strange and uncomfortable out of a suit of armor, envious of Aveline and Cullen's stations giving them the right to show up for diplomatic events ready for battle. She had tried to leave the keep in her Champion armor, but Seneschal Bran had caught her and all but stripped the woman and thrown her into a room with nothing to put on but the black and silver finery. She protested, loudly, and wondered once again how she had been bamboozled into the Viscount seat. It had taken Aveline a good twenty minutes to wrestle her out of the keep and march her to the Chantry site.

The feel of emptiness behind her was greatly unsettling for Ebrisa. She had seen the crater that was once a building that brought her so much peace and comfort before, but to now be forced to stand there with hundreds of accusing eyes on her made Ebrisa almost sick with anxiety. She didn't know how to hold herself, where she should look, or what expression to bare. A smiling mage in front of the flattened remains of the old Chantry could come off as gloating, as though she were proud of what Anders did and supported it. A frowning mage at the ground-breaking ceremony of the new cathedral could be interpreted as being against the city's recovery, as though she wanted the gaping hole to remain as a reminder of what mages could do.

She didn't know what was expected of her, so she did what she always did when a social situation was uncomfortable or beyond her – she called on her noble upbringing. Ebrisa laced her fingers together and rested them just below her navel, her expression neutral and head slightly bowed. Her eyes she kept ahead, but low and unfocused and her breathing slow and quiet. To the outside observer, she was the picture of reverence.

The doors of the nearby estate opened and Grand Cleric Gabrielle lead the rest of the clergy to the courtyard, the sisters encircling behind the crowd and the mothers following the Orlesian priest to the roped off section. Gabrielle was younger than Elthina had been, but Kirkwall was her first appointment of any real significance and she was eager to show the rest of the Chantry how capable she truly was.

A hush fell over the crowd as they focused on the grand cleric, the middle-aged woman lifting her hands and smiling gently. She gave a long, heartfelt speech filled with lines of scripture and quotes from famous sermons, and Ebrisa did her best to pay attention to it but maintaining her calm appearance was taking all of her concentration. The sister's behind the crowd began singing a hymn and the unaccompanied song broke through Ebrisa's carefully constructed facade. There was a sense of peace she always found in the Chantry that readings in the Gallows' chapel and personal prayer could not replicate, and she had sorely missed it. Out there in the open square surrounded by disapproving faces and cruel whispers, Ebrisa felt the first breath of that serenity in what seemed like forever.

One of the mothers unhooked a portion of the rope, holding it aside for the grand cleric to step out onto the dirt. Another cleric offered Gabrielle a shovel and the Orlesian took it with a small bow of her head before pressing the tool into the dirt, scooping up a small amount of soil, and slowly setting it to the side. She returned the shovel to the cleric and walked back to the flagstones. Hawke crossed through the barrier and took the shovel, stepping on the head to dig up a big, enthusiastic scoop of dirt and dumping it by Gabrielle's dainty pile. As she passed Aveline, Hawke smirked and whispered out of the side of her mouth “Beat _that_.”

The guard-captain rolled her eyes, quickly muttering back, “It's not a contest.” That being said, Aveline did remove a sizable portion of dirt to rival Hawke's scoop. The shovel returned to the mother and the cleric bowed her head before directing her attention to Cullen. The knight-commander took hold of the handle, but hesitated before stepping away.

When he did move, it wasn't to the barren ground but back to where he had been standing. Ebrisa lifted her head when he stepped in front of her, the sharp change of angle knocking the slow tears she hadn't noticed from her chin. Cullen smiled faintly and motioned to the opening in the rope with his head, pointing the shovel's handle in the same direction, wordlessly asking her to go with him. Soft murmurs drifted from the crowd, but Ebrisa couldn't hear them over the Chantry hymn resonating in her bones and followed Cullen to the empty expanse of ground.

He set the tip of the shovel to the dirt, holding the handle from one side and locking eyes with Ebrisa, once again getting his intention across without saying a single thing. The enchanter joined her hands by his and together they punched through the soil and lifted it from the ground, only for Cullen to release his grip and letting her deposit the displaced earth by the other scoops. Ebrisa returned the shovel, startled to find the mother frowning heavily. Cullen moved behind her, leading her back to where they had started and trying to not let her ponder what the look had been about.

“Kirkwall has seen many troubles and it has suffered much tragedy,” Gabrielle spoke once again after the hymn was finished. “Know this, dear citizens of Kirkwall: you are not alone. The world's heart bleeds for you and your leaders will see you through. The Chantry, the government, the guard, and the Te-” she flashed her eyes briefly to regard Cullen “-the Circle, are all working together for your benefit. We shall not let you down.”

The ceremony concluded and the people dispersed – Hawke practically running back to the keep to get out of the stuffy finery. When they were already heading home and no longer had eyes on them, Ebrisa turned to Cullen with a mildly accusing frown. “There was a reason I wasn't informed of the rescheduling, isn't there? I wasn't meant to attend.”

Cullen rubbed at his neck, averting his eyes momentarily. “An oversight on their part.”

“They didn't want me there,” Ebrisa argued, the hurt in that statement removing the firmness from her words. She had been so excited when word first came out that the Chantry was going to begin rebuilding and the original ground-breaking date falling when it had made it almost feel like a birthday present. The local clergy had worked closely with her, but as All Soul's Day drew closer and new members started filling their ranks, they distanced themselves from the enchanter. Ebrisa had dismissed it at the time, knowing that there were many things that needed attention, but now she could see the separation was intentional.

“You were clearly the most moved of all the officials there. You deserved to be in attendance just as much as myself or the guard-captain.” Cullen gave her a light smirk. “And you definitely wanted to be there more than the Viscountess.”

She shook her head. “What I want doesn't matter, Cullen. I shouldn't have-”

“It does, damn it,” he snapped, stopping on the stairs and grabbing her arm, turning her to face him. “Maker's Breath, Ebrisa, _of course_ it matters what you want. Why should anyone else's wishes subvert your own?” He released his grip and sighed, forcing his gaze down the steps to Lowtown. “Even if the clergy did not want you to attend, I did.”

Ebrisa took a few steps down, waiting for Cullen to follow. “Is that why you were so defiant in the face of the Grand Cleric, flaunting my presence and including me in the ceremony?”

He laughed a little awkwardly, realizing that he had done exactly that. “I can't very well deny that it played a part, but there is also a much more diplomatic reason.” Cullen stepped down to her side and the two continued on. “People needed to see you helping, they needed to be reminded that mages are not an inherent enemy to Templars or the Chantry. I think that watching you quietly sing along to the hymn and taking part in the ground-breaking with tears in your eyes did a lot to encourage that understanding.”

A small flush of embarrassment ran through the enchanter, having not realized that she had sung earlier as well. She shook off the sensation, knowing Cullen found no fault in the behavior, and smiled shyly up at the man. He'd performed his own sort of silent rebellion that day for her benefit, looking to the future and trying to find a way to make life for her just a little bit easier.

“That was very political of you, Knight-Commander. I'm surprised,” she teased.

Cullen chuckled. “I'm allowed a few stray interactions with politics.”

“I don't know, this was very well thought out. You should be able to handle the nobles on your own now.” Ebrisa sighed wistfully, looking up to the sky. “Soon you'll have no need of me.”

“No, Ebrisa,” Cullen replied softly, not a trace of mirth in his steady voice, “I will always need you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote the cookie scene a while ago and am so glad it's finally come up.  
> Garrett is all of us...


	17. Trapped

Despite the apprehension Ebrisa had about looking at Quentin's research, she managed to work through the Tevene books Varric got for her in a few months after reminding herself that there was nothing wrong with learning the language itself. As the dwarf had said, the language skill she acquired was basic and since nothing Quentin had was meant for children, Ebrisa kindly requested Varric speak to his cousin's widow once again. It took several more months for the advanced text to arrive, but the grammar and pronunciation Ebrisa already learned allowed her to master the new vocabulary and tenses fairly quickly.

For some bizarre reason, academic topics seemed to be written in the passive voice instead of the active, forcing Ebrisa to stop repeatedly and recall the proper participle when she practiced conjugating verbs with Mother during the night. It took a while to get the hang of, but Ebrisa had a good memory and almost a full year since first getting the instructional material she finally felt confident enough to pull out Quentin's research.

She was careful with what she wrote down, not wanting to leave a translation around that might fall into the wrong hands. Anything that wasn't relevant to the binding spell still inside her was purged from her mind, leaving much of the books' contents completely ignored. It was in the handwritten journal that Ebrisa finally found something. It wasn't Quentin's, but he had pulled much from it himself and Ebrisa found mention of a protective ward that might be able to block blood magic control. There was a large, aggressive circle swirling around the entry and a scribbled note in common that she – unfortunately – could recognize as Quentin's handwriting. He had been concerned by the mention of such a thing, meaning that he must have believed it could thwart his thrall casting.

Ebrisa had heard of the _Litany of Adralla_ and knew it had been made by a Tevinter refugee. It protected against mind control, being able to disrupt a spell while it was being cast, but useless against those already under another's sway. If this ward mentioned in the journal worked against physical control, then perhaps it could be adjusted to remove it as well.

Unfortunately, the journal only made a passing reference to a scholar simply named _Vocula_ and Ebrisa wasn't certain, given the meaning of the name and how negatively the journal's author spoke of him, if it that was his real name. Still, it had been enough to frighten Quentin and that was more than worth the effort of research. The idea that Ebrisa could be freed of blood magic without dabbling in it herself with the aid of _a small, insignificant voice_ gave her a warm, steady sensation of peace.

Early into this new line of research, Ebrisa discovered that the Gallows actually had a publication of Vocula's and she hurried over to the library. She would need to have Teryn unlock the proper vault in the restricted section, but that wouldn't be a problem. One of the perks of being First Enchanter was not having to explain her research topics.

 

Cullen walked carefully down the steep steps into the restricted section of the library, looking around the magically lit room at the many sealed vault doors. They had cranks that slid iron bars into housings instead of handles and a lock on either side kept the books within secure from unauthorized hands and eyes. Only one vault was open and there, sitting on a low stool reading, was Ebrisa.

She looked up at his approach and smiled, quickly getting off the stool and pushing it against the left case. “Cullen! There's a book on the top shelf I can't reach, could you possibly get it for me?”

He stopped in the doorway, looking wearily around the tight room. It was only a few yards deep and the space between the shelves matched the width of the door, but the walls were fairly high. “Yes, of course,” Cullen rushed out, forcing himself to move into the cramped room. He stepped onto the stool, glancing quickly to the wide space outside the door. “Which one?”

“ _Inter Spem et Metum_ ,” Ebrisa answered, looking up at the shelf expectantly.

Cullen lifted his hand, moving it uncertainly across the row. “Ah... and that would be... which one?”

She giggled quietly. “Sorry about that. The blue one.” Ebrisa pointed up, waving her finger in way of directing Cullen. “No, the other... with the white moon?”

“This?” He tugged a book free, but the enchanter shook her head.

“Cullen, that's a circle. I meant a crescent moon.”

“Moons can be circles too, Ebrisa.”

She laughed a bit louder, taking the proper book from his hand and double checking the title and author. “I will certainly keep that in mind the next time I give out clues.”

“Now then,” Cullen sighed as he stepped down. “I hope you didn't call me down here just because you were too short.”

Ebrisa looked up at him quizzically, lips pursed slightly in a near pout. “I didn't-” The screech of old metal cut her off as the door slammed closed, leaving them with only the fainest trace of light from under the gap along the floor. She sighed in mild annoyance and strode over to reopen it so she could see enough to read, but then a curious clang froze her in place. “Hello? Serrah Teryn? I'm still in here.”

The enchanter pounded on the latched door, trying to get the attention of whoever just shut them in, but there wasn't so much as a hum on the other side. It was impossible for the vault door to latch itself closed, always requiring a good amount of force to turn the ancient crank one way or the other. Someone was playing a prank, and it certainly wasn't the Tranquil.

“Would I be correct in thinking it was either Ser Garrett or Ser Marian that told you to meet me here?” Ebrisa sighed over her shoulder. When she got no reply, the enchanter turned around fully and walked back to the templar. He was standing slightly hunched with a hand gripping a shelve on both walls for support, or was it an attempt to keep them apart? “Cullen?”

He snapped his head up, finding her in the dark and let out an uneasy laugh. “So, we're locked in? That's, uh, unfortunate.”

Ebrisa sighed, thumping the book lightly in her hand as she leaned against a shelf. “It wouldn't be so bad if I still had enough light to read, but the materials in here are too fragile for any type of illumination spell I might cast.”

Cullen nodded in understanding, then remembered she couldn't really see him. “Yes, right, old books. I understand.” He hoped she wouldn't notice the wavering of his voice or the trembling of his arms.

“I found a lead in Quentin's notes,” Ebrisa continued, trying to fill the silence as her eyes adjusted to the dark. “The author of this book might have something that can help. I don't know if its in _this_ book, but its the only one we have by Vocula.”

“Mmhmm.” It was the only response Cullen could manage at the moment. He knew Ebrisa would become concerned if he didn't answer her, but right now he was using all of his concentration to breathe. Was the air getting thinner? He couldn't see the shelves, but he was certain they were beginning to press back against his hands. What ancient ass designed these rooms so small!?

“Cullen?” The worry in Ebrisa's voice was unmistakeable.

With a frustrated growl, Cullen slammed his hands against the shelves, knocking a few books to the floor before forcing his way past the woman and storming to the door. He tried to remember which side had the hinge, but ultimately just rammed his shoulder into the center. They had to get out. They couldn't stay there. It was too small, too enclosed. Maker, there wasn't enough air!

A hand on his arm had him whirling around, swatting away the intruder of his personal space. He recognized the surprised yelp as Ebrisa and tried once again to restrain his panic. “Sorry, I didn't – we have to get out. We've things to do, and – I'm sorry – when I get my hands on whoever -” Cullen's breathing became too labored to continue talking, but the air wasn't filling his lungs. His chest ached and he turned back around to pound on the door again. Why was no one coming? Shouldn't there be patrols nearby? Wasn't the library upstairs filled with quiet Tranquil? Surely someone could hear the racket he was making. Air. Why couldn't he get enough air?!

“Easy, Cullen, easy,” Ebrisa soothed, slipping around his arm and bringing both her hands to his face. “Look at me, Cullen. Focus on me.”

Unable to do anything else, he obeyed, the sliver of light at their feet faintly outlining her features.

“Good. Now breathe. Slowly, okay?” Ebrisa coaxed his head down until his forehead rested against hers. “With me. In.” She took a long, slow breath, her entire body raising just a fraction and pressing against the point of contacts between them. “And out.” Her exhale was louder than it normally would have been, and Cullen vaguely registered she was doing it on purpose for his benefit. “In.”

Cullen could hear his heart beating in the quiet between her words.

“Out.”

That beating was calming.

After several more sets, Ebrisa felt confident enough that he didn't need her instruction, but continued to breathe with him. She rubbed her thumbs lightly across his cheekbones, the action soothing and affectionate, and it drew a quiet whimper from the templar that would have embarrassed him if his mind wasn't already so consumed with another embarrassment.

“Forgive me,” Cullen mumbled, grabbing her hands in his own and pulling them away, but not letting go. “I never intended for you to see me so...” _Weak? Useless? Cowardly? Unmanly?_ Sweet Blood of Andraste, what must she think of him now?

Ebrisa squeezed his hands reassuringly, her voice still soft and soothing when she spoke. “Are you alright now?”

“No,” Cullen muttered, leaning his head to the side until it thumped against the door. The need to get out, to not be caged was still very strong and panic rested just at the edge of his mind. He tapped his head against the door again, then again, harder this time, and the urge to pound his fist came back.

“I had asked Serrah Teryn for a ladder, so he should be coming soon. Let's sit down and wait for him.” Ebrisa tugged on his hands before lowering to the floor, Cullen following her lead.

From their new spot on the stone, Cullen could clearly see the gap between the floor and the door. It was only about an inch, but beyond that inch lay freedom and space and fresh air and the templar focused on it so intently he didn't notice Ebrisa moving to sit at his side and readjusting her grip on his hand. Staring at the small opening helped ease some of his anxiety, so he watched it for several quiet minutes until it subsided again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He turned to the enchanter slowly, hesitant to answer. Ebrisa had already seen him – for lack of a better term – _freak out,_ but if she knew the reason behind it, would she look at him differently? His eyes dropped down to her lap where she had both of her hands wrapped around one of his own and the notion of ridicule drifted away. Ebrisa wasn't that sort of person and if talking to anyone about his past would help ease it, it would be her.

“Tell me,” Cullen began cautiously, “what do you know about Kinloch Hold?”

She tilted her head back, resting it against a series of books. “Its the Circle of Magi in Fereldan. It fell... because of the darkspawn?”

“It did fall during the Fifth Blight, but darkspawn had nothing to do with it.” Cullen took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. “Mages revolted and the tower was overtaken by abominations. Demons ran rampant, the Veil torn, and even loyal mages were forced to join Uldred's ranks or die. Templars lost control and those that got out barred the door. Those that didn't...” His voice failed him, having grown too hoarse to continue. He almost took it as a sign to stop talking and to keep Ebrisa in the dark about his life before a little longer, but then she lifted his hand and held it against her chest. He could feel her heart beating, steady and sure, and the rhythm gave him strength.

“I was kept in a magical cage for... I don't even know how long. There were other templars with me – friends, colleagues – and the demons tormented us one by one. It wasn't physical torture,” he paused to release a tired chuckle. “What I would have done to be flayed alive instead.”

Ebrisa shifted her grip, tucking their joined hands under her chin and pressing her arms against his. It was protective and almost like a hug.

“They dug through our minds, clawing at our thoughts. They yanked out our darkest desires, our greatest shames, our most hidden doubts. The questions they asked... sometimes it just... It was difficult to retain faith.” Cullen could feel Ebrisa shaking, or was he shaking? Maybe they both were at that point. “They showed us visions, tried to tempt us and break us. It was all a game to the demons. Templars are supposed to be righteous and pure and stand against the same evil magic that courses through the creatures that to reduce a proud member of the Order to a whimpering heap begging for death must be a great, perverse thrill for demons. Beval, they killed. Farris and Annlise as well. I cannot remember the order, but I was the last. My faith sustained me, but after everything I had seen... that had reached it's limit as well.”

He released a choppy breath, closing his eyes against the darkness of his memories. “The air was thin in that cage and the barrier pushed us into a tight corner by the Harrowing Chamber. The walls could not be weakened, we had no way of escaping. If the Hero of Fereldan hadn't arrived when she did, then I don't know how much longer I could have lasted in there. I am frequented by nightmares that make me relive that captivity, that helplessness, that... fear. Small spaces can... trigger the same memories.”

Even when he had been ordered by Meredith to explain the reason for his transfer, he had not gone into such detail. There were things he had never voiced out loud before, things he had not wanted to admit, but they were out now and he couldn't take them back. Ebrisa's silence, which had been so comforting before, was now suffocating. Her lack of comment felt damning and he became nervous about what she would say when that silence was broken. Cullen had laid everything out before her, and he could do nothing now but wait.

“Oh...”

The reply was quiet, uncertain, and Cullen had no idea how to take it.

“Oh, I didn't... Cullen, I had no idea...”

Ebrisa's voice was heavy with emotion, but the templar was unable to decipher what emotion it was. Disappointment at his weakness? Disgust at his broken nature? Annoyance at his whining?

“I'm so sorry that happen,” Ebrisa whispered against his hand before releasing it and turning to face Cullen properly. “You've been plagued by these memories all this time, and I never...” She combed her fingers through his hair, trying to search his eyes in the dim light. “I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner. What do you... is there anything I can do for you? Please, how can I help?”

The concern on her face was so deep, the sympathy in her voice so laced with pain, that Cullen wondered how he could have ever thought Ebrisa would respond negatively. She cared for him, and that fact had never been more obvious than it was at that very moment.

He smiled weakly, still too anxious and troubled to offer a happier expression, and caught her hand. “Just... stay with me?” Cullen realized after asking that he'd left himself open for a joking response. Of course she would stay with him, they were locked in a small room – she didn't have anywhere to go. He would understand if she went that route, and he likely would have himself if only to clear the heaviness from the air his revelation had caused.

But she didn't do that.

“Stay with you?” Ebrisa twisted her hand in his grip until their fingers were entwined. “Do you really have to ask?” She smiled warmly, eyes sparkling despite the darkness. “I'll stay by your side for as long as you want.”

Cullen squeezed her hand, tightening their connection, and forced himself to look away. In his head and in his heart, Cullen wondered if _forever_ was too much to ask.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, the 'kissing cupboard' didn't turn out as you hoped it would.  
> It's mentioned in the World of Thedas vol 2 that Cullen had issues staying below deck both to and from Kirkwall, complaining that the air was too thin and the like. I took that to mean he's claustrophobic, and so being stuck in a small room with the object of his desire wasn't going to go anywhere pleasant.   
> Look at these two being more open and affectionate. It won't be long now~


	18. Caught

Adralla of Vyrantium was commissioned in 4:46 Black to construct the litany that would bear her name. She had been a magister of the Tevinter Imperium and looked at blood magic with a scholarly eye, which many of her colleagues did not appreciate. Blood magic was not something people were supposed to acknowledge, but the woman's insistence to publish research on it had earned her multiple assassination attempts. Adralla's work had been the pinnacle of protection against demonic and maleficar mind control, but ages have passed since Divine Clemence first requested the spell.

Vocula's work was not so ancient, making his notes far easier to understand than whatever forgotten dialect would have been used 500 years ago. He was a great admirer of Adralla, referencing her theories several times and often using them as a base to construct his own. He felt, as she had, that blood magic in and of itself was not evil, but merely a source of power. Using your own blood or that of a willing participant was acceptable, but too many abused the second option by using slaves. Slaves were property, they had no will, and thus could not be _unwilling_ to serve their masters.

With so many abusing or ignoring the consent of sacrifices, Vocula dedicated his academic career to subverting the practice of enslaving others through blood magic. With so many schools of blood magic, so many variations, Vocula was never able to find ways to counter all of them. Like Adralla before him, he developed a few wards and spells to prevent mind control but the advances made in the ages between allowed him to find ways of breaking some of those holds. The school of blood magic Quentin studied from was a smaller faction, unpopular, and as such Vocula did not spend much time looking into it. He constructed only one ward that, if activated during casting, would prevent the wearer from becoming a thrall. Ages after his idol and ages before Quentin, and the man had only crafted something as relevant to Ebrisa as the Litany of Adralla.

Ebrisa tried to not become discouraged, telling herself that the Tevinter scholar surely would have developed what she needed if the binding inside her was more common or he had more time. She studied each of his wards, noticing repeating runes and trying to determine their purpose, hoping to find patterns that could be integrated into the prevention glyph and give it the same properties. In this research, she felt no hesitance or shame.

She had been able to break down the wards into lines of script, looking up their use in other Tevene texts and unwinding the tangles of runes until she knew the significance of the order they were placed in. Unfortunately, constructing the ward she needed was not as simple as swapping out lines from one glyph with another and Ebrisa swirled her quill in the ink well absentmindedly as she stared at the open books and sheets of notes spread out before her. There was something she was missing.

Sighing heavily, she leaned forward and rested her face in her hands, elbows firmly planted on her desk. Vocula had crafted dozens of wards, but she didn't have his eye for this sort of work. “Quid vidisti,” she mumbled tiredly, pulling her hands away and picking up a sketching of the most prominent rune that still eluded her.

A chuckling from the doorway drew her attention and Ebrisa instantly straightened at the sight of the knight-commander shaking his head. “Cullen, licet tuo iuvare?” She flushed at his raised brow and continued mirth, replaying her words back in her head before shaking it. “Sorry, I've been looking at these too long. May I help you?”

“I was going to suggest you take a break, but firstly you should clean that ink from your face.” He motioned a swirling finger towards her right cheek, trying very hard to not outright laugh.

“Oh,” she mumbled, setting down the quill still in her hand that had been the obvious source of the smudge. Ebrisa wiped her fingers over her heated skin, looking up at the templar for confirmation. “Did I get it?”

Cullen smirked, folding his arms. “No.”

She tried again, frowning. “How about now?”

“You're _spreading_ it.” The hidden laughter in his voice was becoming more obvious. “Maker's Breath, let me.” He crossed the room to the small wash basin and grabbed a damp cloth before motioning for Ebrisa to stand. “I'm not entirely convinced this was accidental,” he teased when he came to a stop, pointing the fabric at her accusingly.

“Cullen,” Ebrisa sighed, her embarrassment only increasing as he scrubbed the washcloth in circles over her cheek.

“I'll stop laughing if you stop touching things,” he replied, though his amusement hadn't decreased at all.

“Fine,” she muttered, looking away and trying to stay still.

“You don't have to pout.”

“I'm not pouting.”

“Mmhmm, sure.” Cullen switched his focus to her hand, cleaning the black from her fingers and not sounding at all convinced. “You know, if you keep doing things like this, I'll have to start closing my door. You can be rather-” he look up, intending to only give the woman a quick glance, but found himself locking eyes with her instead “-distracting...”

Ebrisa's cheeks were still red – the left side almost matching the right, despite not having been touched – and her previously pouting lips had relaxed and parted slightly. She was watching him closely, studying the way he gently held her hand open and curled the cloth around her fingers. There was barely a hand's span between them and Ebrisa could almost feel their breath mingling.

“I,” Cullen continued, voice lower than it had been before. “I'd barely get any work done...”

The enchanter looked away quickly and dipped her head, swallowing her nerves. “Well, that... I suppose I should work on that. I mean, it would be a real shame if you had to start closing your door.” She shyly drew her eyes back to him, looking up from beneath her lashes. “I'm quite fond of the view.”

The look of surprise on Cullen's face was so instantaneous that Ebrisa regretted speaking. The energy between them had been steadily shifting for months and she thought he had been feeling it as well. They teased often, banter sometimes lighthearted and sometimes more... meaningful. There was a chance she was mistaken, a chance he would flip her comment into a joke or a good-natured boast. There was a chance, and Ebrisa felt it becoming larger by the second.

“O-oh,” Cullen mumbled, keeping his widened gaze on her, searching for any trace of humor or insincerity. His grip tightened on her hand when he found none and a small smile broke free. “I'm... fond of it, too...”

The world fell away. There was nothing else that mattered but the warmth in his eyes and his hands enclosed around hers. All that existed was Ebrisa and Cullen, his breath lightly caressing her skin the only air she needed and her heart thundering in her ears the only sound she could hear.

Until it wasn't.

“What are they doing?” A harsh, feminine voice whispered from somewhere beyond Ebrisa's understanding.

“Nothing,” a male voice whispered back. “Just... _looking_ at each other.”

“Why did they stop flirting?”

“How should I know?”

Ebrisa blinked as Cullen furrowed his brow, the pair trying to reacquaint themselves with reality.

“This is getting ridiculous,” the female grumbled, louder than her previous whispers. “Would he just kiss her already?”

The male muffled a snort. “I know, right?”

The enchanter's face heated and she dropped her eyes, the man before her setting his jaw.

“Wait, I think we missed something!”

“No way, we only looked away for a second!”

Cullen released Ebrisa's hand and threw the stained cloth to the floor, body going rigid with anger.

“You don't think they can...” the female mumbled uneasily.

“Hear us?” The male awkwardly finished.

Cullen whirled around, gripping the desk and pointing across the hall. “Marian! Garrett!” he bellowed. “To my office. _Now_!”

The templar knights scrambled up from their hiding spot in the doorway, nearly tripping over each other in the sudden fear of being caught. They rushed out broken apologies and feigned declarations of innocence before finally going to stand at attention in their commander's office.

Ebrisa was unable to form words, too embarrassed to even think, and turned to press her burning face against the cool wrought iron bars over the window. They were being watched? For how long? And by Ser Marian? Maker, Ebrisa would never hear the end of this, would she?

She chanced a glance over her shoulder, finding Cullen still gripping her desk and facing away from her. He was visibly outraged, his muscles tensed, and she could hear his loud, ragged breathing – a clear sign he was working extra hard to get his anger under control. Was he irritated because they had been spied on, or because of what was said?

 

Cullen stormed across the hall, slamming his office door closed after entering and taking a small measure of satisfaction at seeing the knights jump at the booming noise. He walked behind his desk but did not sit, choosing instead to stand at his full height and tilt his head up just a little as he scowled at the mischievous pair. He let the silence hang, let his subordinates sweat nervously for a good stretch of time, before finally addressing them.

“Are you aware that spying on your superiors is a detainable offense?” He calmly asked, hard expression never wavering.

“Yes, Knight-Commander,” both knights responded quietly.

Cullen nodded slightly, acknowledging the reply. “I am glad to hear it. Tell me. What, precisely, did you think you were doing? I'd imagine you've had ample opportunity to examine the outside of our cells before now, but perhaps you were simply eager for a change of perspective.”

“We were eager for a change of _something_ ,” Marian grumbled, sour face frowning at the floor.

“Eyes front, templar,” Cullen snapped, his authoritative tone forcing the woman's head up as firmly as an actual hand. “Care to explain that remark?”

Marian glanced to Garrett for support, but her partner in crime was busy pretending he was anywhere else. She released an annoyed huff of air, then turned back to the expectant commander. “Well, its just, I mean... we're in your corner, ser.” Cullen raised a brow and waited for the rest of her explanation. “You and the first enchanter? We've been rooting for you two for a real long time and I guess we've been... getting impatient lately.”

“Rooting for...?” Cullen kept his expression firm, but the confusion was evident in his voice.

“For you to get together,” Marian clarified. At that, Garrett seemed to finally come back to the room and nodded enthusiastically.

With an impressive amount of self-control, Cullen willed the burning of his skin to a mere flush and swallowed the lump in his throat before it could affect his voice. “That's none of your concern.”

“Permission to speak freely, ser?” Garrett asked, breaking his silence.

“ _Denied._ ”

Garrett paused, biting his tongue to keep his words from escaping. It didn't work. “Gonna say it anyways,” he blurted, ignoring the wince from Marian and the mild glare from Cullen. “You two would be so good together! Maybe you can't see it, but from the outside it is so obvious! We thought that maybe if we gave a few nudges, then things would move forward, but _Maker's Balls_ , you two are inept!” He took a breath, as though preparing to say more, but this time he did notice the much harsher glare from his commander. “Uh, with respect, ser.”

Cullen flattened his palms on his desk, leaning forward menacingly as he recounted all of the oddities that had been going on in recent months. He'd thought them pranks, but now realized it was these two interlopers attempts at pushing him and Ebrisa together. “Adding whiskey to the teapot, that was you.”

Garrett shrugged a shoulder. “We figured that if you were a little less stiff, you might not listen to your head so much.”

Neither him nor Ebrisa drank any of the alcohol, both instantly noticing the strange smell, and Ebrisa wondering if the tea leaves had molded. That lead to her completely reorganizing the kitchens in an attempt to keep dry goods away from excessive humidity.

“The bathing schedule change.”

Marian made an indignant noise. “That one really should have worked.”

In truth, almost walking in on Ebrisa naked had filled Cullen with such a jumbled mishmash of thoughts and feelings that he wasn't able to look her in the eye for nearly two weeks. Every time he saw her, an apology sprang to his lips, despite not really getting much more than a glimpse of her sitting in the water with wet hair. If anything, that _accident_ actually set them back several steps.

“I had already suspected Marian's involvement with the library incident, but you played a part in that as well, Garrett?”

“We couldn't exactly pass up the opportunity to lock you two in a closet,” Garrett mumbled.

Being locked in that dark, small room had certainly not produced the result the knights were looking for, but strangely enough it had brought Cullen and Ebrisa much closer. They had not been intimate, but their conversation was.

Cullen shook his head, trying to remove the frustration and nearly overwhelming urge to knock the knights' skulls together. If these two unobservant soldiers had been noticing his behavior and attraction towards Ebrisa for – at the very least – months, then who else was aware? It did not take much for rumors to spread through the Gallows and if Ebrisa heard about his feelings from gossip, then she was likely to dismiss it. The last thing he wanted was for some random person to walk by and just blurt out ' _I hear Cullen's in love with you_ '. Maker, how awkward would _that_ be?

“You are to stop your meddling immediately,” Cullen ordered firmly, no hint of embarrassment or nervousness in his voice or body language. “My personal affairs are not anyone's concern, and neither are the first enchanter's. If this proves too difficult for you to let go, I'm certain I can find some other task to draw your focus that will not elicit nearly as many giggles from you.”

The pair struggled to bite back their whines of disappointment, but eventually nodded. “Yes, ser.”

He dismissed the depressed duo with a wave of his hand and waited until they were gone before sighing. If Marian and Garrett thought he needed help, then maybe he really did. Still, it would not do for their half-brained schemes to persist and _when_ Ebrisa found out his feelings for her, Cullen wanted it to be from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Hightown was well on its way to full recovery. The districts not immediately close to the epicenter of the blast were relatively free of damage and the homes and shops within were spared the bulk of debris. In addition to not suffering as much destruction, the residents of Hightown also had the funds required to have their walls spackled and streets repaved. Hightown's market had most of its shops opened and even the fancy little cafes in the foreign quarter had booming business, but it was a different story entirely everywhere else in the city.

The templars and the Chantry had focused their efforts on Lowtown and the docks, helping with public spaces and homes, but leaving businesses alone for the most part. Those who operated from simple, constructed stands or sold wares from a wagon were able to get back on their feet easily enough, but those that relied on physical establishments had a much harder time. They could not pay for repairs until they earned more, and they couldn't earn until their business was repaired. It was a frustrating cycle that many gave up on.

Corff was one of the few fortunate individuals that received outside aid and by late autumn, _The Hanged Man_ was open for business. There was a grand re-opening event and the storeroom was packed with barrels and crates in anticipation of a massive crowd. Varric sent out invitations across the city, calling the tavern's return to active business a 'housewarming party', but the two people he had hoped to see there the most declined. Though, with Ebrisa being a notorious lightweight and Cullen a notorious stick-in-the-mud, he wasn't exactly surprised.

“ _This_ ,” Garrett slurred, thrusting his empty mug forward, “is amazing. You got real-actual-really-ale ale in here!”

The dwarf shrugged, smirking widely. “What can I say? We sprang for the good stuff for tonight's celebration. Give it a few weeks and Corff will have it watered down with other ingredients, just like how you remember it.”

“Given your past attempts to own this place, I'm surprised its not actually _we_ ,” Fenris commented dryly.

“Hey, that was all in good fun. I'm not about to take away the guy's livelihood in times like these,” Varric defended. “Besides, if the amount of money donated to this place equated to ownership, then Hawke would be a partner, too.”

Varric's contribution to the cause had been to get his home back, and, in a way, so was Hawke's. She loved her friends and didn't regret offering them all a place to stay, but as time wore on her estate felt smaller and smaller. The sooner they were on their own, the better.

“Andraste's Tits, no _thank you_!” Hawke pulled a sour face as she filled her glass nearly to the brim. “Noblewoman, mine owner, Champion, Viscountess – if you slap one more responsibility on me, I might snap.”

“You're a sister,” Carver remarked, whacking the back of his hand against her arm as though physically slapping the responsibility on her. “How long till you crack?”

“About five minutes after I crack your head, baby brother,” she shot back, glaring mildly.

“Speaking of cracking,” Varric pipped back up, directing the conversation away from a sibling argument and facing his inside sources. “How is it going with our blonde idiots?”

Marian made a very undignified whine and dropped her head into her hands.

“That good, huh?”

“We got caught watching them the other day,” she explained lamely. “Then, well, we pretty much had to come clean with our plans.”

“And yet you live!” Varric cheered, lifting his mug in salute. “Congrats!”

“Barely,” Garrett mumbled drunkenly. “We've been bumped to the _woooooorst_ assignments on the duty roster.”

“I'm sure its not that bad,” the dwarf chuckled.

Carver leaned forward to see around his sister, raising a brow at the dwarf. “You do remember we house a wyvern at the Gallows, don't you?”

Varric winced, suddenly getting a better understanding of what his cohorts might be suffering through and he felt at least a little responsible. It had been him that first suggested Ebrisa and Cullen needed a nudge so they might get past their insecurities, but he never told Marian or Garrett directly to do anything about it. The schemes they had been implementing had also come from him – or rather, from his books. It was a strange case of life imitating art imitating life, only scenes hadn't played out like they did on the page.

“I think I know what will cheer you up,” Varric soothed in a sing-song voice that one might use for a sniffling child. He rose from the table and wandered further into the reconstructed suite, digging though his possessions until he returned with a book. “ _Silk and Steel_ volume two,” he declared, waving the book in his hand. “It'll hit shelves just in time for Satinalia, but this is my personal advanced copy. I suppose I could lend it to you in the mean time, assuming you don't let it get confiscated like the last one.”

Marian straightened excitedly and reached for the book. “Oh, don't worry, I won't! My bunk doesn't get inspections.” She grinned mischievously. “Since my quarters are _her_ quarters, the knight-commander doesn't like people rummaging around in there. The first enchanter needs her privacy, after all.”

“What if I want to read it?” Garrett mumbled around the lip of his newly filled mug.

“You'll have to wait,” Marian snapped. “Eighty-five percent of our failings are your fault, buddy.”

Garrett grumbled directly into his ale, causing bubbles to pop to the surface and drowning out whatever argument or agreement he may have voiced.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that Garrett and Marian are basically you guys? Cause they have been sailing this ship since the Qunari attacked the Gallows and Cullen threw Ebrisa at the healers.


	19. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going up a wee bit early, since I can't hold this back any longer.

“Maker, this is _awful_!” Audrey snickered, chin resting in her hand as she lay on her stomach. Marian had been gracious enough to share Varric's latest book with the other women in her bunk after they swore to not disclose spoilers to anyone. It was Audrey's turn to read and she had only made it through half a chapter before voicing her opinion.

“Awful and _fantastic_ ,” Halle corrected, leaning on the other templar's top bunk to skim the page and see what scene she was on. She clasped her hands together, looking off into the distance with starry eyes, making her voice airy as she recited one of the lines. “Oh, Collin, my brave knight.”

Audrey turned to her dramatically, pitching her own voice lower to mimic a male's. “Risa, my pure light.” She took hold of the other woman's hands and they stared at each other longingly... before erupting into laughter and slapping the mattress repeatedly. “No one talks like that,” Audrey said through her still sputtering mirth. “ _That's_ why its awful.”

“Oh, please,” Moira sighed tiredly, turning the page of her own book with its much more dignified subject matter. “No one reads a Tethras romance for the dialogue.”

Halle ducked down to peer at the other reader, smirk in place. “Oh?”

“They're pure smut,” Moira explained. “Even _I_ know that.”

“Wait,” Halle began skeptically, crawling onto the lower bunk to get closer to the dark-haired woman. “Have _you_ read them too?”

The brow raise Moira gave her was part annoyed and part amused. “What? I have a pulse.”

“The real question is,” Audrey began, rolling to the edge of her mattress to join in the conversation. “How much of these books are true?”

“Well, the _enchantress_ is right over there.” Moira motioned across the room with her bare foot, pointing out the oblivious Ebrisa changing out of her robes.

“What? Just _ask_?” Halle snorted. “Not a chance.”

“All you need to do is take one look at our unravaged first enchanter and it becomes obvious that its all fiction.” Moira directed her attention back to her book, effectively telling the others that her participation in the conversation was over.

Marian watched the blonde woman slip into her nightdress, narrowing her eyes curiously on the large scar Ebrisa was always so quick to cover. She knew better than anyone that for all the exaggerations and liberties Varric took with his stories, there was a spark of truth in practically every scene with Collin and Risa. Knowing that and knowing Ebrisa had been in the infirmary for several days following the annulment, something the dwarf had included in his latest book had Marian concerned.

She hopped off her top bunk, startling the other templars, and made her way across the room.

“Oh, shit,” Audrey mumbled into her hand.

“She's not _really_ going to ask, is she?” Halle added, incredibly uneasy about the prospect.

Moira kept her eyes on her book, but she did sigh out a very tired, “Dolt.”

Marian failed to hear them, too focused on her mission to even remember the others were there, and stopped behind the blonde just as she finished braiding her hair for sleep. “Can I ask you something?” Ebrisa didn't reply, simply turning around and looking at her expectantly. “So, that scar of yours... that's from Meredith, right?”

A look of discomfort crossed over the enchanter's face as a hand instinctively flew to block the already covered marred flesh from sight. “It... it is,” Ebrisa quietly confirmed. “Why do you ask?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It had gotten late enough that Cullen dismissed the sentries posted in the hall, feeling it cruel and unnecessary to force them to stay up just because he had not yet finished working. There were templars patrolling the grounds and they would be more than sufficient, beside the fact that Cullen could likely handle any intruder that descended upon him in his quiet office.

He was nearly done now, having whittled the paperwork for the day down to one more lone report that merely needed a perusal and signature, when Ebrisa burst into his office in only her nightdress and slammed the door closed behind her. She was red-faced and panting from her journey with wisps of hair slipped from her loose braid and looking so uncharacteristically angry that Cullen was too stunned to even stand up.

The woman pressed her advantage, storming over to him and grabbing his left arm, unbuckling his vambrace and throwing it to the floor before yanking off his glove. Ebrisa stared at the scar on his wrist, and all the force she had a moment ago fell away like his glove from her weakened grip. “It's true,” she mumbled, lowering shaking fingers towards his scar. She retracted her hand before making contact, quickly backing away almost all the way into a book shelf in a sudden mixture of fear and anger. “Cullen, what did you do?!”

The templar paled, his heart seizing as he realized that Ebrisa had finally found out about his darkest secret. There was no point in denying it, not when she had already seen the telltale scar, and he knew he had to come clean. He had planned on doing so countless times before, tried to figure out the best way to have this conversation, but being faced with it so suddenly when he was so tired from working left him unable to recall a single thing.

“You were so badly hurt,” Cullen quietly began, keeping his eyes on his desk. “There was no other way.”

“There are _always_ other ways!” Ebrisa shot back. “Just because you couldn't find a mage to heal me faster doesn't mean you should turn to blood magic and make deals with demons!”

“There was no demon!” Cullen argued, pushing back from his desk so quickly that his chair clattered to the floor when he stood. “Merrill saved you with a spirit's aid and my blood, but there was no demon!”

Ebrisa shook her head, not believing him. “No goodly spirit would willingly work with a blood mage, which you are accusing Haren Merrill of being, so the demon either lied or the spirit was forced to act against its nature, _turning_ it to a demon in the process.” She paused, a worried expression flashing across her face. Is that what happened to Mother? The spirit had said the others couldn't do what was necessary, did that mean she was the one to work with Cullen and that's why she was acting so strangely now?

“There was no demon,” Cullen repeated, quieter this time. “But if that had been the only option... I would have acted the same.”

“There are always other options,” Ebrisa mumbled, clearly shaken from the brazen declaration. “Blood magic, demons... Cullen, you're a _templar_. I can't believe you crossed that line so easily.”

“Easily?” Seeing Ebrisa laying there after the battle hadn't been easy. Feeling the warmth of her body fading away hadn't been easy. Hearing her erratic breathing hadn't been easy. Facing the idea of losing her hadn't been easy!

She brought a fist to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head several times. “Cullen, that's not... you can't... you shouldn't have done that. Sacrificing your morals, your faith, your soul... Cullen, I'm not worth any of that.”

“You _are_!” He took a step towards her, anger bubbling inside him that she still, _still_ , after everything she'd done, could not see her own value or importance. Some of that was her parents' fault, some of it was the Chantry's, but some of it was his, too. “Ebrisa, you don't get it! You weren't just injured, you were _dying_! The wound was too severe for us to handle, we didn't have enough supplies, you couldn't drink any potion... I was left with the choice to let you die or _do something_ and, Maker forgive me, _I fucking did something_!”

Ebrisa opened her mouth to protest or argue or say any number of things that would do nothing to dissuade Cullen from his line of thinking, but he wouldn't let her speak.

“You don't know what it's like to have the person you love bleeding out in your arms and being powerless to save them! You don't know the sacrifices you're willing to make when someone – _anyone_ – offers you a way to keep that person with you for even a minute longer!” Cullen whirled around, slamming his hands on his desk and leaning heavily onto it. “Yes, I crossed lines, and it was the easiest decision I ever made in my entire life.”

He panted loudly, trying to find some measure of calm so he could continue the conversation without further yelling. He hadn't meant to yell, hadn't intended to shout or get angry in defense of his actions, because he knew from the start that Ebrisa would be upset when she found out. Cullen was resigned to have her hate him, of being stripped of his commission, and wondered what would happen to Kirkwall when it was revealed that the current knight-commander had welcomed blood magic on the heels of the Circle's annulment under the same accusation.

Cullen waited for Ebrisa to speak again, willing himself to stay calm this time, but his office had grown silent since his last outburst. He replayed what he said in his mind, looking for what could have rendered the woman speechless in the middle of their argument.

' _...the person you love...'_

Oh.

Oh...

A new sense of dread washed over Cullen as he hunched his shoulders and dipped his head lower, refusing to move from his desk or look at the woman behind him. He had been so concerned about her reaction to his feelingd that he spent two years avoiding it, only to blurt it out during a shouting match when she was already thinking badly of him. This was certainly not the most appropriate time to have done that and Ebrisa would not be in a very receptive frame of mind. Maybe she'd take his confession as a lame excuse for his actions that terrible night years ago instead of the true, pure feelings they were. He shouldn't have confessed this way, but he had and everything was laid out now.

“I do know,” Ebrisa breathed out, her voice tight and quiet, but sounding in Cullen's ear as clearly as if she'd shouted. “Cullen, _I do know_ , every bit of it.”

He turned to look at her, keeping one hand on the desk to support his suddenly unsteady body. She looked as though she might cry at any moment, eyes shining and lips trembling behind her fingers. His heart quickened as she took a hesitant step forward, hope and anticipation increasing with every inch she drew closer. “You know?”

She nodded, the action knocking the tears from her eyes. “When I found you in the lower levels... there was so much blood. I tried to get rid of the wards so I could heal you, but there wasn't time and I was so scared I'd lose you before I could tell you everything. I was so scared you'd leave me before I could tell you...”

Cullen pushed away from his desk and matched Ebrisa's uneven steps with his own until he was right in front of her. He searched her eyes for doubt as he tried to come up with the words he needed, hoping he could be eloquent for once in his life. The man ultimately said nothing, cupping her face in his hands and pulling her into a kiss that said all the things he couldn't voice. She opened up to him immediately, no surprise or hesitation like their previous kisses, and Cullen forgot all about the concept of air. He loved her. He loved her, and she loved him and they finally, _finally_ had a moment when nothing else mattered.

Ebrisa whimpered against him, the sound muffled by their joined lips, and she fought to find purchase on his armor so she could pull him closer. Warmth erupted from his chest and spread out over his entire body, tension and fear slipping away as unbridled happiness overcame the man. He backed her up slowly to the wall, needing the added support of a surface to keep them from falling over and the sturdiness of the stone to further ground him in reality. This was happening. This was real.

_She loved him..._

Ebrisa's bare foot kicked his discarded vambrace and she broke the kiss to hiss at the pain in her toes. They both looked at the piece of armor as it came to a skittering stop, eyes focusing on the Templar Order's sigil etched into the metal and a sudden heaviness settled over them. They had forgotten, however briefly, that they were not simply a man and a woman free to love each other, and Ebrisa's eyes started to tear up again.

“You didn't stub your toe that hard, did you?” He quietly said while rubbing at her tears with his thumbs, lamely trying to break the seriousness of their situation with a joke. It didn't work.

“Cullen,” Ebrisa whispered, emotion cracking her voice. “What are we going to do?”

He knew what she was getting at, but he didn't have a real answer for her. Cullen didn't want to sneak around, didn't want to hide his feelings for Ebrisa like it was wrong or a wicked secret. He'd spent a great deal of time imagining this scenario, but now that it was upon them he realized every solution was flawed. “Under normal circumstances, the knight-commander can grant permission for templars to engage in relationships.”

“ _You're_ the knight-commander,” Ebrisa pointed out, as if he could have ever forgotten. “I don't think your decision will hold much weight with the rest of the Order.”

“We could petition the grand cleric,” Cullen offered. “She has authority over the Circle.”

That suggestion only served to sink Ebrisa further into her concern and she dropped her chin, following the grout lines on the floor with her eyes. “Grand Cleric Gabrielle hates mages. You can't tell me you think otherwise.”

It would be impossible to miss the way Gabrielle and the newer clergy acted around Ebrisa and, frankly, the Orlesian's attitude towards mages was not going to help Kirkwall cope with its' own. The chances of her consenting to the relationship was miniscule, but the likelihood that she'd report him to the knight-vigilant and have him removed was nearly overwhelming. Did that matter, in the grand scheme of things? He'd gladly give up his position, his rank, his years of training and hard work to be able to openly embrace the woman clutching his arms right now.

As if she could sense his thoughts, Ebrisa spoke before he could voice them. “Kirkwall has been doing so much better under your watch. You've set a good example for the templars both here and in other Circles. If you are removed or are discredited now, who knows what sort of effect that can have?”

“Ebrisa?” He knew what she was saying. He knew, but he didn't want to believe it.

She looked up at him, sparkling eyes undermining the sadness on her face. “I love you, Cullen. I love you, but I can't let anyone accuse you of being under mind control or charmed. I can't let anyone besmirch your good name and everything you've done. Not because of me.” She stepped out of his embrace and headed for the door, night dress swishing around her and bare feet padding across the tile.

Cullen reached out and caught her hand, forcing her to look at him once again. “Ebrisa, please, don't walk away from this. We can think of something, we can find a way.”

She smiled at him, warm and heartbreaking all at once, and lightly trailed her free hand down his cheek. “I really hope we can, but until then...” Ebrisa slipped from his grasp and looked away. “I'm sorry, Cullen. There's so much at stake and I... I'm just not worth it...”

Even after all of the good she's done, all the initiative she's shown, all the accomplishments she's made as first enchanter, Ebrisa still felt unworthy, lowly, even. She was humble, yes, but to deny the prospect that he cared about her more than his career? A crushing weight settled on Cullen's chest as he realized the woman before him didn't just think herself not worth the risks of their predicament, but not worthy of love at all.

“Yes, you are...”

He watched her go. Watched her quietly open and close his door. She was trying to protect him from the outside world, but in so doing she was destroying him. So the Templar Order wouldn't approve, so it could spark another confrontation in the other Circles, so Gabrielle and her imported clergy were against mages... so what? None of that mattered, not any more. Cullen was willing to throw it all away, but Ebrisa wouldn't let him. It would crush him to abandon his life as a templar and she knew it, so she wouldn't let him. Maybe if their confessions hadn't come out while they were arguing about the last time Cullen sacrificed everything for Ebrisa, then she wouldn't have felt the need to protect him from himself now.

There was also the chance, given the current state of Circles across Thedas, that they both could be imprisoned or executed. Such a punishment could possibly worsen the tension between mages and templars, maybe make more people sympathetic to the mage cause and tip the scales of public opinion in their favor. Everything was so dangerously balanced right now that any incident could spark a riot on either side. Damn Ebrisa's political mind for still being able to see that. Well, if she was going to play the diplomat, than so was he.

Cullen broke his gaze from the door and went back to his desk. He corrected his chair and dropped down into it, pulling out a clean sheet of parchment and drafting a lengthy letter. It took him the rest of the night and numerous attempts before he'd written exactly what he needed to, but sleep meant nothing to him right now. He was exhausted for the rest of the new day, but Gabrielle and the knight-vigilant weren't the end-all-be-all for the Templar Order and Ebrisa was very, _very_ much worth it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The walk back to the barracks was much longer and colder than Ebrisa's furious march to Cullen's office had been. She ignored the strange looks she got from passing templars on the trek and refused to answer her bunkmates' questions when she returned. Ebrisa climbed into bed with her dirty feet and pulled the covers over her head, cocooning herself in hopes that all of the emotions and anxieties swirling around inside her would settle during sleep and she'd emerge in the morning a better, clear-headed person.

The metamorphosis hadn't come, but neither had sleep, and she couldn't bring herself to crawl out of bed at sunrise and face the world as though everything was fine. She couldn't spend the day working across the corridor from Cullen as though everything hadn't changed. She couldn't bare to hear his voice pleading with her as though everything wasn't at stake.

Love was just supposed to be about two people caring for one another. In fairy tales and folk legends, love was like a magical force that could overcome any obstacle, subvert any wicked plot, and always ensured the loving pair would live happily ever after. Admittedly, Ebrisa had considered imitating a few of those stories. She and Cullen could run away, leave everything behind and just _go._ They could find work in a small village somewhere, keep to themselves and ignore the political struggles rampaging the rest of the world. They could be happy, if only they could make themselves forget who they were, but as close to a princess locked in a tower and a valiant knight sworn to protect her as Ebrisa and Cullen were, their lives were no fairy tale. They could not just forget their responsibilities and ride off into the sunset, ignoring the havoc their sudden departure would wreak.

Knowing Cullen loved her as desperately as she did him made the reality of their situation so much more painful. Before, when her affection was thought to be only one-sided, the entire notion of being together was a fantasy, so imagining being at his side didn't make her chest cave in on itself like it did now. It didn't hurt to think about curling up beside Cullen and quietly reading a book while he lazily played with her hair. There was no ache to wonder what sort of affectionate moniker he might give her or how red he might turn if she called him by one in public. She could fantasize before, because it was only a fantasy. She didn't have to worry about the consequences, because it was never going to happen.

The difference between the despair she felt from thinking she couldn't be with Cullen and _knowing_ she couldn't was staggering and Ebrisa needed more time to get a handle on it. Her work could wait, the world could wait, because Ebrisa wasn't leaving the safety of her bed any time soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *builds fort out of pillows*  
> I'm sorry sweetlings, but you know it wasn't going to be that easy.  
> *prepares for angry backlash*


	20. Statement

A full week and not a word spoken between them. Ebrisa conducted most of her work in the lab, sending a Tranquil to her office when she needed something, and always seemed to be out when Cullen came looking for her. At least, that's what the Tranquil would tell him. He wasn't sure if Tranquil could lie, but they clearly had loyalties and if their first enchanter ordered them to turn their knight-commander away, he was certain they would have no issue complying. All he wanted was a moment of her time, just long enough to explain he wouldn't push her and respected her decision. He didn't like it by any means, but he understood her hesitance. Oh, Maker, how he didn't like it.

Before he had blurted everything out in a rush of angry ignorance, Ebrisa was at his side. He could talk with her about anything, he could watch her endearing expressions, he could listen to her sweet laughter and let it warm his heart. She was such a constant in his life, he depended on her so much, and now she was hiding from him. This – _this_ – was exactly the sort of thing that made Cullen bite his tongue for so long.

His somber mood was apparent to any that spoke with him, but they knew better than to comment on it as he continued to perform his duties admirably. Marian had practically burst into his office the morning after the confession, red-faced and ready to yell at her superior for whatever he had said to make the enchanter curl up into a ball, but the anger dissolved at his own emotionally drained appearance. She didn't ask a single question and simply excused herself before backing out and closing the door.

Not long after the simultaneously happiest and most heartbreaking night of Cullen's life, Divine Justinia was attacked. The assassination attempt had not been on the same scale as the previous Divine's, but it had occurred in the middle of an Orlesian masquerade ball and there was no faster way to spread gossip than to enact a plot surrounded by avid players of the Game. Rumors flew around like dry leaves in the wind, each bent and twisted in its own unique way. It was nearly impossible to separate the speculations from the truth and Cullen did his best to politely turn away any questions people asked him about it.

A notice arrived at the Gallows informing him that the Divine was to release a public statement and encouraged as many people to attend the Chantry reading on the set date as possible. Cullen left notes for Ebrisa in her office and with her bunkmates, asking her to go with him to Hightown if for no other reason than to appear unified in the public eye. He was uncertain if she read any of them or even got them, but when the day came, Cullen made the trek into the city accompanied only by his fellow templars.

They arrived at the converted estate in time for the first service of the day, Cullen wanting to get the information as soon as possible so that he could finally have a straight story to tell others. It was standing room only in the large entry hall, a pulpit placed on the center landing of the grand staircase and additional congregation seating along the balcony of the second floor overlooking the main door. Some Chantry tapestries had been added to the walls and a small brazier burned beneath a woven scene of Andraste's death, the fire in the bronze basin casting light and shadow over the fiber flames of the depicted pyre.

The grand cleric was well aware most of the congregation was there to hear the Divine's statement, the event having been advertised for days, but she held off on reading it until the very end of the service. After all, if someone left in the middle of a sermon or hymn, it would be terribly distracting to those faithful who remained. Finally, after a service that ran perhaps a little longer than normal, Gabrielle pulled out the letter and began to read.

“ _Allow me to put to rest any rumors you may have heard about the events at the palace in Val Royeaux earlier this month. Yes, an attempt was made on my life. Yes, the attempt was made by an individual who felt the Chantry was not listening to the plight of mages. Yes, that individual was a mage. And yes, that mage was slain by a templar._

_“What you need to know is that this was not an assault by a swarm of mages crushed by a squad of templars. This was one man being stopped by one woman. Knight-Captain Evangeline was the only sword in attendance, acting as my honor guard, and had not gone to the event with the intention of harming anyone. Unfortunately, in protecting myself and the others present, that is precisely what occurred._

_“I know that the flagrant, audacious actions of this lone mage are deeply alarming. I know that tensions have only grown higher since this attempt on my life, but do not let fear blind you or harden your hearts. I will share with you a piece of what I had been telling the nobles that night before panic clouded them. We must remember that many mages follow the Chant of Light. We must remember that they follow Andraste's teachings just as we do and that they know full well that 'Magic exists to serve mankind, and not rule over him.' Mages have served us well over the centuries, defended us in the evil times of ages past and fought for us in many wars. We must not turn a skeptical or scornful eye to mages in times of peace, just because there is no outside threat to draw our attention._

_“We must do our best to correct this. We must put aside our fear at what a person is and embrace them for who they are. I know this seems a difficult task, but one must only look to Kirkwall and know it can be done. Nowhere else in recent times has witnessed a darker conflict between mages and templars and the waves of fear and hatred that permeated from the city-state have been felt from Orlais to Rivain. That is why we must look to Kirkwall once again, because in the midst of all that darkness, something pure has emerged._

_“I speak of a man and a woman, deeply in love. Together, they have worked tirelessly to aid the victims of the Rebellion. Together, they have directed cleanup and restoration efforts of their home. Together, they have overcome the prejudices, injustices, and follies of their predecessors. In Kirkwall, in the epicenter of this recent conflict between templars and mages, the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter are in love and they have my full support.”_

Gabrielle continued reading, but Cullen and many others had stopped listening. He stood dumbstruck in the back of the room, arms folded and staring straight ahead as he tried to figure out if he'd fallen asleep on his feet from the priest's droning sermon and was daydreaming or if the Divine had really just called him and Ebrisa out in the most public way possible. Cullen pinched his arm hard enough to feel the sting through his armor padding, the slight pain informing him that the second option was true.

Cullen couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, and wasn't entirely certain how to feel at that moment. On one hand, he and Ebrisa had Chantry approval from the highest authority and he wanted to fall to his knees with thankful prayers. On the other hand, every Andrastian in not only Kirkwall, but all of Southern Thedas would know about their relationship and the sudden feel of so many incredulous eyes on him had a maddening blush spread from his neck all the way up to his hair. He was a very private man and to be denied any ambiguity with his personal relationship was going to be very difficult to get used to.

 _His personal relationship with Ebrisa_.

A wide, dopey grin spread across his face and the knight-commander turned from the room of still stunned worshipers and left. He headed for the Gallows with what could almost be considered a spring in his step, not pausing to school his expression as others passed him by. A small chuckle bounced around in his chest as he took the steps faster than normal, realizing that this was one thing he couldn't get scolded by Mia for not telling her about as soon as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The day had been exhausting. Cullen was far more persistent than he had been the week prior and Ebrisa suspected it had to do with the Divine's statement. He was right, of course, that going to the Chantry together was an important political gesture and that they needed to continue to reinforce a positive image of mage cooperation in Kirkwall. He was right, but at the same time being near him in the physical representation of the Chantry's rules would only serve to drive home the fact that she could only ever be so near.

Cullen became more insistent in speaking with her as the day progressed, no doubt because the time they had left to catch one of the Chantry services was decreasing, and his patience with the Tranquil acting as Ebrisa's buffer was wearing thin. At one point she had to dive under a work bench when the knight-commander forced his way into the lab to look for her. It was childish and embarrassing, but Ebrisa hadn't known what else to do.

In addition to Cullen's behavior, many of the templars were giving her... looks. They weren't all the same, which only added to the oddity. Some were scowling, some amused, and a few even gave her a smug grin or wink. It was confusing, but even her bunkmates refused to explain what it was all about. Oh, Marian and Audrey really looked like they wanted to explain, but Moira kept them silent and directed the others to tend to their armor instead. Moira wasn't technically a corporal, but she could be intimidating enough when she wanted to be that the position might as well have been hers.

Night was a welcome relief, as it meant the final service had concluded and Ebrisa could finally relax. She began changing out of her uniform as Halle polished her breastplate and Audrey mended a small tear in her armor padding. It grew eerily quiet, the normal background noise of the barracks falling silent save for sturdy, echoing footsteps that became more ominous the closer they drew. The door flew open without so much as a knock and Cullen strode right in, eyes instantly locking with Ebrisa's so intensely that the woman was torn between the urge to hide under her bed or throw herself into his arms. Ultimately, she settled for standing completely still, hands hovering over the fastenings of her robes.

“Knight-Comman-” Moira didn't get a chance to finish.

“Leave us,” Cullen ordered firmly, never breaking eye contact with the enchanter. The other templars scrambled out of the bunk, slamming the door in their haste to comply, and soon it was just the two of them.

Ebrisa finally broke herself free of the trance she'd fallen in and rebuttoned the top of her robes, dropping her eyes to the task. “It is extremely inappropriate for you to be in here.”

He rubbed at his neck, the confident commander gone, and in his place stood nothing but a man. “I am aware, but you've left me with little choice,” Cullen sighed, sounding both tired and nervous. He dropped his arm and took a deep, steadying breath. “We need to talk.”

“I know,” Ebrisa mumbled, still not raising her eyes.

“You... you know?”

She looked up at the sound of surprise in his voice, not being able to figure out its reason. “You wanted me to accompany you to service today to hear the Divine's statement, didn't you?”

“Yes, but that's not what-” Cullen paused, then tipped his head to the side in concession. “Alright, that does have _something_ to do with it, but not...” He sighed again, as though expelling the air would also expel the doubts from his mind. “Ebrisa, that night... after you left I wrote a rather desperate letter to Orlais seeking approval.”

Fear prickled across Ebrisa's skin as she studied the man before her. Had he'd been relived of command? Had forces arrived to take Cullen into custody? What if they took him to Aeonar prison? Was the real reason he wanted Ebrisa to go to the Chantry with him that day because he knew he was leaving and wanted just one, final memory with her? Ebrisa suddenly felt stupid for wasting the past week avoiding Cullen and furious at him for doing exactly what she told him not to. She wasn't worth whatever trouble or punishment Cullen had volunteered himself for.

“I swore up and down that you hadn't done anything unnatural to me. I offered to endure whatever tests they wanted to prove I was not possessed or tainted. I did my best to explain my feelings for you, but words have never truly been a friend of mine.” He blushed slightly, embarrassed, but pressed on. “I know it was a risk to expose us like that, I know you were concerned for not only me but for everything we accomplished, but I just couldn't let it end like that. I couldn't let _us_ end before we even started.”

Ebrisa desperately wanted for there to be an _us._ She wanted to be able to drape her arms around his neck and lay her head on his chest, to listen to his heartbeat until it was the only sound in the world. She wanted to be able to hold his hand and just walk around without a destination or purpose. She wanted to be able to have what she saw other women take for granted. She wanted to be part of an _us,_ but wanting something didn't mean you could have it.

“You shouldn't have done that,” Ebrisa whispered, fear and regret and sadness crashing together. “Cullen, I'm not-”

He pulled her against his chest, crushing the woman in a desperate embrace and silencing her protest. “You _were_ worth it. You _are_ worth it. You will _always_ be worth it!” Cullen released his hold to lightly grip her chin, tilting her head up until she met his eyes as his other hand buried itself in the long, loose curls of her hair. “Don't I get a say in your value? Ebrisa, _I love you_. You mean everything to me.”

He pulled her into a gentle kiss in an attempt to solidify his claim, to reassure the woman that his feelings were not an idle fancy or simple attraction, and when he pulled away he was pleased to feel her chase after his lips.

“Besides,” Cullen continued, “you can't try to use that faulty logic as a defense when I received a favorable reply to my letter.”

Her brow furrowed slightly in preparation to further her argument, but then the rest of Cullen's words sunk in. She stared at him, eyes wide and mouth dropped, and ran his last sentence over and over again in her head. A favorable response to his request could only mean they'd received official approval. Was that really true? Cullen was known to tease her and bend the truth a little from time to time, but something this serious, this important... he would never joke about this. “I... I can't believe the Templar Order consented...”

“They didn't.” Cullen smirked slightly, trailing his knuckles affectionately down her cheek. “I went over the knight-vigilant's head and wrote to his superior. It will be very difficult for anyone to dismiss us when Divine Justinia herself supports our relationship.”

“You...” Ebrisa was somehow more dumbstruck than she had been a moment before. “You wrote Her Holiness and she responded? When did you find out?” The feeling of foolishness came rushing back.

“Today...” Cullen shifted his eyes to the side, face flushing slightly in the lingering embarrassment from that morning.

It hit Ebrisa suddenly and her skin began to match the man's rosy tint. “The official statement. The Divine gave approval in her statement.”

Cullen nodded. “She did.”

“Wasn't that being read in every Chantry?”

“It was.”

“So... everyone knows we...”

“They... do...”

Ebrisa knew she should be mortified, she knew their relationship was no one's business, but at the same time... “Do you think it would be terribly redundant if I still shouted it from the rooftops?”

He shook with a near silent chuckle and pressed his forehead to hers. “I'll help you find a decent spot.”

It was a purely political move, Cullen realized that, but the fact was that the Divine had given her approval. There would be eyes on them at all times, people they didn't even know studying them for any trace of deception or looking to the pair as an example. Control of the situation was out of his hands the moment Cullen sealed his letter and sent it off, but he couldn't have asked for a better outcome. The woman he loved loved him back, the highest power in the Chantry – if not Thedas itself – consented to the relationship, and they wouldn't need to hide because everyone already knew. He and Ebrisa were free of all the rules and pressures that had been weighing down on them for years, and Cullen couldn't remember a time when he had ever been happier.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, Cullen fixed it! Kinda!  
> Not the ideal solution for two private, reserved people, but beggars can't be choosers!


	21. Ideas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per request, I've written a little drabble about Cullen's siblings hearing the good news and it actually made me want to write some other little one-off side stories or alternate scenes, all of which will end up in the same series [ "Of Things Not Seen"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/783495)  
>  [Here's the Mia bit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11626776)

The sense of peace was short lived as the cracked open door gave way and a small crowd of templar eavesdroppers fell into the room. It wasn't just Ebrisa's bunkmates or even Marian and Garrett, but several other curious soldiers that thankfully had not tried to pursue a career in stealth. Ebrisa squeaked at the sudden intrusion and jumped back on impulse, the reflective action smacking her head against the wooden frame of the top bunk behind her. She hissed quietly as Cullen berated his subordinates and ordered them all to turn around. He gave her an apologetic look before planting a soft kiss to the perceived bump in a childish attempt to make it feel better.

Essentially all of the Gallows had known about Justinia's statement before Ebrisa, but were sworn to silence until Cullen had been able to talk with her. It was also possible that all of _Kirkwall_ knew before Ebrisa and the city was filled with just as many curious individuals. The sudden announcement had thrown a lot of people and in an effort to ease the citizens' concerns, Seneschal Bran summoned both Cullen and Ebrisa to the Viscount Keep the very next day. The plan was for them to release some sort of official statement of their own, to go into more detail and less imagery than Divine Justinia had, and hope that it would settle the waves of suspicions.

The trek to Hightown was no more eventful than normal, though the number of people watching the Gallows couple was considerably higher, and Cullen resisted the urge to wrap a protective arm around Ebrisa's shoulders as they walked to dissuade any violent outbursts from the crowd. The enchanter had a different idea entirely and timidly slipped her hand into his, the sudden feel of her fingers on him making Cullen recoil in surprise.

“Oh, sorry, I...” Ebrisa mumbled, dropping her eyes to focus on the stonework under their feet. “I just really wanted to do that...”

He caught her hand before she could pull it away and entwined his gloved fingers with her bare ones. “Apologies. I was merely caught off guard.” Cullen offered her a weak, embarrassed smile. “This is all very new. If you'll bare with me for a while, I swear I will improve with such things.”

“Bare with you? You make it sound like a great burden.” Ebrisa flashed him a smile that was brighter, yet just as embarrassed. “I am not so quick to leave your side now that I can finally be here. This is new to me as well, so I hope you extend me the same courtesy.”

He nodded and tightened his grip, lips twisting up into a teasing smirk. “At least if I stumble, I can be comforted in the fact that I'll take you down with me.” Ebrisa laughed in response, quiet but clear, and the sound reassured Cullen just as much as her hand in his own.

The moment they stepped into the keep a runner sprinted into the viscount's office and not ten seconds later came right back out and rushed through the main door into Hightown. Cullen spared the runner a curious glance, then ushered Ebrisa forward to Bran's office. The seneschal greeted them tiredly and got straight to business, asking questions that ranged from basic knowledge to uncomfortably invasive – most of which Cullen refused to answer. They were there for what felt like hours drafting a statement until something suitable was written and the three of them all signed it.

“Yes, this will do,” Bran drawled, sounding bored despite the fact that the entire thing had been his idea. “I'll send it to the printers for distribution throughout the city.”

“Thank you, Seneschal Bran.” Ebrisa dipped her head respectfully before rising from the stiff chair. “I appreciate your forethought.”

Bran almost smirked at the compliment, but that would mean showing interest. “I would have preferred having some notice ahead of time about... _matters_ such as this. As I understand it, you could have done with some notice as well.”

“That would have been nice, but I am not one to question the Divine's decisions.” Ebrisa glanced briefly at Cullen, a light flush warming her skin. “Especially when they are such favorable decisions.”

“Indeed not.” Bran turned to the other papers on his desk, effectively dismissing the blondes without words as his position had no authority over theirs to do so.

No more than three steps into the small antechamber and the heavy double doors of Hawke's office flew open with a bang. The viscountess glowered at the couple as the foot she'd just used to kick her doors came slamming to the carpeted floor. “Finally! I thought you'd be in there all day!”

Cullen looked to Ebrisa and Ebrisa looked to Cullen, then the both of them looked to Hawke. “Pardon?” The enchanter was having difficulty showing Hawke the respect her position dictated when the woman was so opposed to the mannerisms her position required.

The knight-commander had no such reservations. “We were summoned for an official task, Viscountess. Official work takes time, which I would _hope_ you'd have a little experience with by now.”

Hawke waved a hand dismissively, then used that same hand to beckon them into her office. “Well, I'm officially tasking you two with getting your butts in here.”

“We, uh, we really ought to return,” Ebrisa hesitantly declined. “As you said, we spent a great deal of time with the seneschal and our presence is surely needed at-”

“Da'len!” Merrill sprinted over to the enchanter from inside the office and pulled her into a tight hug, pressing their cheeks together. “Congratulations! I'm so happy for you!” She released her friend, eyes shining excitedly. “We had to start the party without you, I'm afraid.”

“Party? What party?” Ebrisa gave the opened office a more thorough inspection, finding Varric and Fenris further within as well as a tray of food and several bottles claiming precious real estate on Hawke's cluttered desk.

“Your party, of course.” Merrill rolled her eyes with a smile, as though the other woman was merely playing around. “Come on then.” She hooked her elbow around Ebrisa's and pulled her inside, ignoring the still confused protesting. “Oh, when Varric told us what he'd overheard yesterday, I could scarcely believe it. You always seemed too shy to just go and tell the whole world about your relationship, but good for you! Best to get it all out in the open like that so there's no room for the public to doubt.”

“That's not exactly what happened,” Ebrisa mumbled, realizing what the small celebration was for.

“Oh,” Merrill sighed, sounding very disappointed. “So its not true? Your spiritual leader didn't say it was okay?”

“No, she did...” Ebrisa felt her checks beginning to warm, the situation still very new.

“So then, you aren't in love?” Merrill pouted, one hand on an empty cup and the other resting on the neck of a green bottle.

The light flush deepened and the enchanter focused her eyes on the cheese and sliced fruit nearby so that she could manage a reply. “No, that's not – I am – _we are_ – but it's just... we didn't have much say in how others found out.”

“Well that's hardly important in the grand scheme of things.” The elf picked up the bottle and poured an amber liquid into the cup. “You love him and he loves you. That's what matters, isn't it?” She held out the cup and smiled brightly at the still flustered enchanter.

Ebrisa accepted it, starring down at its contents sheepishly. “Yes...”

Merrill nodded and picked up her own cup. “Good. Now just forget about everything else for a little while and enjoy yourself.”

There was nothing Ebrisa wanted to do more than forget about everything else and just... be happy, even if only for a little while. There was work to be done back at the Circle and more questions that needed to be answered, but for now she could put that aside and spend some time with her friends and the man she loved, drinking... “Haren Merrill, I don't mean to sound rude, but what is this?”

“Its a Dalish drink made from dandelion blooms that I had nearly forgotten about in Hawke's cellar,” Merrill explained after taking a sip from her own cup.

“I've heard of teas made with the root or leaves, but not the blooms.” Ebrisa took a curious sip, finding the drink sweet and not at all like tea.

“The Dalish learned long ago not to waste a single piece and its actually a very long and boring process to make, so I won't go into that.” Merrill picked up a slice of apple from the tray and tapped it against her lip. “Instead, why don't you gush about your new relationship?”

 

“Did you save a copy of the letter?” Varric leaned in a little more, smirking widely. “Never figured you for much of a wordsmith, Curly, but that must have been a masterful piece of writing to get the Divine on board.”

“I did not,” Cullen replied in a barely restrained grumble. He would have preferred to ignore Hawke's invitation and simply return home, but Ebrisa seemed to be enjoying herself interacting with the friends she didn't see nearly often enough and he was hesitant to pull her away. “Forgive me for not having the foresight to pen a duplicate for your personal perusal.”

The dwarf tisked in disapproval. “Shame. Well, you can make it up to me by giving us the play-by-play of how you finally confessed.”

“Maker's Breath.” This time, he did grumble. “Can't we keep at least _that_ private?”

Hawke slowly shook her head, frowning at the templar before looking down at Varric. “You know, we are really asking the wrong person these questions.”

“Not going to stop us from asking them though, is it?” Varric grinned up at his friend.

“Nope.” Hawke grinned back, then looked at Cullen once again. “So after all that time I presume you did something nauseatingly romantic? Flowers and poetry and stuff like that?”

Cullen adjusted his stance to angle his body away from the pair and took a long swig of Merrill's homebrew, being very obvious about the fact that he was now ignoring the Champion and the storyteller.

 

“And you are certain no blood magic is required?” Fenris arched a brow, still skeptical.

“Yes and no,” Ebrisa relented, frowning heavily. “Vocula never got around to devising a spell for removing this particular binding, but I think I've found a way to... um...” She fumbled for the right word, setting the heel of her palm on the rim of her cup and flopping it flat against the top, then back up in an attempt to mime the action. “This.”

Fenris took a drink directly from the bottle, eying the blonde woman curiously.

“Oh!” Merrill mimicked the action with her own cup. “Trap?”

“Yes, _trap_!” Ebrisa shot the other mage a grateful smile, then another as she refilled her cup. “I can't seem to work out how to remove the binding on my own, but there's a way to set up a trap that _would_ remove it. See, if someone tries to activate the binding and take control, their spell would trigger a reaction that counters out the first one. If I have it all set right, it should make me immune to further bindings as well!”

“So, by trying to control you, they'll be setting you free?” Merrill dipped her chin slightly, wanting to be sure she had understood correctly.

Ebrisa nodded enthusiastically, a small, giddy giggle escaping her. “I have all of the runes and script I need, so there's just the matter of arranging the glyph in the proper order and it will be ready to hand over to the Tranquil.” Her mood changed suddenly, brow furrowing and lips scrunching together in a pout. “But, I worry. I can't always wear the same piece of armor and amulets can get lost so easily. What if I go through all this trouble to find a solution, but get caught without the ward when I least expect it?”

Merrill gasped. “Like in the bath?”

“Exactly!” Ebrisa brought a hand to her mouth, suddenly horrified. “I'd be a thrall _and_ be naked!”

“I would hope that being a slave to the maleficar is the worse of the two in your mind,” Fenris deadpanned.

“Of course,” Ebrisa huffed.

“But being naked is also bad,” Merrill pointed out to the fighter.

“Of course,” the enchanter repeated.

“No one should see da'len without clothes except the knight-commander.”

“Of cou-” The word caught in Ebrisa's throat as her face flushed more so than it already was. “Wha- _what_?! Haren Merrill!”

Merrill turned back to the blonde, tilting her head to the side in confusion. “You're together, aren't you? Doesn't that mean he's allowed?”

Allowed? It was far too early in the relationship to be thinking about what would be allowed when and Ebrisa's mind was far too foggy at the moment to even begin to go down that road.

Fenris darted his eyes to the ceiling quickly in a silent show of annoyance. “I believe the wyvern mage was lamenting the fact that the ward could not always be with her?”

That snapped Ebrisa back from her embarrassment and she nodded. “Exactly. Unless I can figure out a way to have the design on something that... always...” She trailed off, eyes slowly moving from one elf to the other then back again. Then again. Then again.

“Is there some invisible pendulum we should know about?” Fenris snapped after the fourth swinging of her eyes.

“I could do _that_!” Ebrisa lifted a finger, now pointing back and forth between the elves.

Merrill turned to look at Fenris, trying to figure out what the other mage was referring to. “Cut your hair?”

Ebrisa shook her head and lifted her hand to trace the wandering finger along the lines of Merrill's vallaslin. “ _This_. If the glyph is on my skin – _in_ my skin – then I will always have it. It's perfect!”

The Dalish mage shook her head once. “The ward won't have any power if it's drawn in ink, that's why books can hold so many of them. Runes need lyrium to work, da'len.”

“They do,” Ebrisa confirmed, turning to look at Fenris again. “Yours are done in lyrium, right? That's how you can...” Again, she fished for the word by pantomiming, thrusting out her hand, then squeezing it into a fist and retracting it.

Fenris scowled at the blonde, setting his almost empty bottle on the corner of the desk. “There is a reason these markings are so rare. The process was excruciating, the pain wiped all memory of my life before it from my mind. I ache constantly. This is not something to be envied, nor a solution for your problem.”

The refusal earned him a hearty frown. “I still remember the feeling of being helpless, of not even being able to speak. I remember every terrible thing Quentin made me do, and I never want someone else to be in control of my actions again. My body is my own and belongs to no one but me.”

 

“There's a volume _two_?!” Cullen held the bridge of his nose and groaned. “Maker's Breath, _why?_ ”

“Obviously because sales for the first one were so good,” Hawke chuckled. “It was already in its second printing before he even started on the next book.”

Varric nodded, sighing wistfully. “It is a wonder that I managed to release _The Tale of The Champion_ on time at all, but Andraste's Dimpled Buttcheeks, am I amazing.”

“We are forever awed by your greatness, oh Master Tethras.” Hawke circled her hand in the air, then dipped into an exaggerated bow. Varric returned the gesture and Cullen sighed, wondering how he had tolerated their presence for so long.

“Cullen!” Ebrisa slipped up beside him without notice and latched onto his arm, grinning up at the man excitedly.

He couldn't help but return her smile, or notice the flushed nature of her skin. “Ah, so you've remembered I was here as well.”

She ignored his jab and the other two people, too elated by the news she came to share. “I'm going to get a tattoo!”

Cullen raised a brow in response, unable to understand why she thought that was a good idea or why she thought _he_ would. Ebrisa giggled at his expression and snuggled closer, securing his arm between her own and the valley of her breasts. It was a rather nice sensation and her enthusiastic show of affection made his cheeks warm, but the heat greatly increased when Hawke snickered and he remembered where they were.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” Hawke drawled, slowly grinning at the enchanter.

Ebrisa giggled, removing a hand from Cullen only long enough to wave it dismissively. “What do you mean? I've been here the whole time.” She paused, then craned her neck to look back at the desk. “It's not that far. Couldn't you see me?”

Cullen looked down at his half-finished cup, then to the woman draping herself on his arm. “Ebrisa, are you drunk?”

She recoiled slightly, as though offended, then giggled. “From flowers? Cullen, you can't get drunk drinking down Dalish dandelion draft.”

Varric let out a deep chested laugh, furiously scribbling down notes. “Nice alliteration, Sunshine.”

Ebrisa stilled, looking up slightly and moving her lips as she recounted her words before smiling brightly at the dwarf. “Thank you, Master Varric.”

Hawke smirked, knowing her patience has paid off. “So, Trevelyan, why don't you tell us how Cullen here proclaimed his undying love for you?”

“Hawke,” Cullen warned.

At the same time, Ebrisa huffed, “I was so mad!”

The three of them gave her various looks. “Funny,” Hawke began. “I figured you would have been the opposite of that.”

Ebrisa shook her head furiously, hair swinging around and smacking her face from the effort. “No! Ser Marian said there were demons and blood magic and I got so mad that I marched straight to Cullen's office without shoes or clothes on to yell at him about it!”

“Oh _really_?” Varric glanced up from his notes to wink at the templar. “That would certainly help things along, wouldn't it?”

“She was in a nightdress,” Cullen quickly amended. He thrust his cup in the crook of Varric's elbow, forcing the dwarf to stop writing if he didn't want the liquid to spill out and ruin his notes. “We're leaving.”

A sudden, heartbreaking whine slid up Ebrisa's throat, forcing the group to once again give her various looks. She was pouting, but not in the normal, mildly frustrated way she normally did. Her bottom lip was slightly puffed out, brow creased upwards, and eyes so unbearably sad that they had actual tears forming – in that moment, she looked every bit like the _puppy_ Isabela went on about.

“Did I do something wrong?” Ebrisa tilted her head to get a better view of Cullen's face, leaning against him more than she already was. She didn't return to the previous, childish expression, instead slowly drawing her lower lip through her teeth as she looked up at the templar with desperate, almost needy eyes.

“You, um...” Cullen lost his train of thought, the response evaporated somewhere between his mind and his mouth as he watched Ebrisa. It had been so long since he'd seen her even slightly worry on her bottom lip that seeing the slow, much more deliberate action now in conjunction with her body pressed against his was undeniably enticing and a little erotic. Undeniable, and apparently obvious.

“Hawke, take the damn cup,” Varric muttered out of the side of this mouth. “I'm missing stuff here.”

Cullen cleared his throat and tried to will his blush away, knowing he'd just been caught ogling by the worst possible people in Kirkwall. “We just need to get back. Right now.”

“I'll bet,” Hawke teased.

“We've dallied here long enough and I've very important paperwork to do,” Cullen rushed out, pulling Ebrisa with him from the office. They'd just made it out the door when he heard Varric call out.

“ _Paperwork_ isn't a very cute pet name, Curly. Creative, but not cute.”

Cullen refused to acknowledge the tease with so much as a grunt and quickly lead Ebrisa from the keep as he tried to plan their trek home. While she retained a fair balance, the woman was visibly happy and extremely clingy – something that could possibly be explained by the well-known status of their relationship. The moment someone spoke to her, however, all illusion of sobriety would be lost by her giggles and over animated responses. It certainly would not look well for the first enchanter to be drunk in the early afternoon, so instead of taking the usual path through the city, Cullen turned them to the right at the base of the keep's steps.

They crossed through the red light district and passed _The Blooming Rose_ before making it to the shipping tracks. The ramps and side steps were much steeper than the multi-leveled stairs that ran from Hightown to Lowtown, but there was no activity at the docks that time of day and the possibility of running into anyone else on the narrow passage was miniscule. There was a chance that the angle would prove too much for the intoxicated enchanter, but Cullen would carry her if need be and he was fairly certain she wouldn't mind if he did.

“It's because I'm a hypocrite, isn't it,” Ebrisa mumbled, breaking her silence so suddenly and so solemnly that Cullen actually stopped walking. They were nowhere near the middle of the stairs, but had traveled far enough that the entrance could no longer be seen.

“What are you talking about?” Cullen had plenty of experience with drunks, but they were usually belligerent or sobbing and he was having a little difficulty trying to decipher Ebrisa's particular brand of inebriation.

“I got angry with you for making a deal to heal me, but I did the exact same thing. I didn't know who or what the spirit was or what she wanted, but I agreed to give her anything if she could heal you. It could have gone so badly, but I didn't care.” Ebrisa took her guiding hand off the wall and wrapped her arms around herself. “I did the same thing you did, but I got mad that you did it. I'm a hypocrite, and that makes you upset, so when I told Viscountess Hawke...”

A long, tired sigh left Cullen as he watched the woman he loved beat herself up yet again. “What upset me – what still upsets me – is your poor view of yourself. That you fail to see your rare, pure, and beautiful qualities – things that have been obvious to me for years.” He reached out and unwrapped her arms from herself, holding her hands in his own and waiting until she met his eyes to continue. “Ebrisa, you are worth any trouble, any task, and you deserve so much more than I will ever be able to give you.” Cullen lifted her hands to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss against her fingers. “All that means is that I will never stop trying my best for you.”

Ebrisa stared at him, lips parted and face flushed, and Cullen suddenly remembered she was drunk and the conversation was likely too heavy for her to process at the moment. She giggled and slipped from his grasp to wrap her arms around his neck instead, pulling herself close. The woman used her higher step to reach his height, leaning forward dangerously to nestle herself against the warm, soft skin that was normally out of her reach beyond the cold, unyielding armor pieces. Fearing that she might knock them both over with her unbalanced determination, Cullen provided extra support with his own arms until she rested comfortably past his gorget.

She nuzzled her cheek against his, releasing a pleased sigh. “Your best. Your best has always been more than enough.”

A small smile slipped across Cullen's face at her response. If she could answer as she always did, then maybe she was more clear headed than he thought. Maybe Ebrisa wasn't nearly as drunk as he had previously believed.

“Haren Merrill said that, since we're together now, you're allowed things,” she said softly, directly into his ear.

“Did she?” Cullen had wondered what the mages had spent so much time talking about in the keep.

“Mmhmm,” Ebrisa hummed against his skin. “You can see me without clothes on. Do you want to?”

Nope, he was wrong. She was definitely just as inebriated as he thought.

His entire body tensed and cheeks burned before nearly tearing the woman off him and setting her on the steps. “That's um, not really an appropriate... That question's a little...”

Ebrisa lowered her eyes and toed the edge of her step with one foot, a sad pout taking shape on her still flushed face. “You can just say _no,_ ” she mumbled. “I'm fully aware of how displeasing my scars are to look at.” A hand drifted over her abdomen, trailing up and down the hidden marred skin underneath a few times before clutching the fabric tightly.

“Maker's Breath, that's not it,” Cullen rushed out. “I'll take the sight of your scars over the gushing, open wound any day.”

“So then, you _do_ want to?”

Oh, he definitely wanted to and the way Ebrisa was looking at him from under her lashes and biting her bottom lip had him thinking about what he wanted to do besides just looking. It would be so easy to take Ebrisa back to his quarters, _too easy_ , and a lesser man likely would have jumped at the golden opportunity to fulfill his base desires. After all, Cullen had been more or less fantasizing about taking Ebrisa to his bed for years and here she was, seemingly willing and even hopeful that he would do so.

To his credit, Cullen managed to push the thoughts and urges away with a loud, slow exhale of breath. “That's a conversation best saved for when you have full control of your senses, not when dandelion wine has addled your mind.”

“Wine?” Ebrisa furrowed her brow in confusion for a moment, then gasped and swiveled her head to look back towards the Viscount's Keep. “She never said – how sneaky! I wouldn't have had any if I knew!” The enchanter turned back to Cullen, a look that he was certain was meant to be furious twisting her features into an angry pout. “Last time I had wine, I got drunk and apparently giggled my way through Chateau Haine's dungeon and caverns, making quite the fool of myself. That's not an experience I wanted to repeat.”

Cullen held back a smirk and extended his hand, which she enthusiastically took. “You're in no danger of wandering into any caverns with me around, but I'm afraid there's nothing to be done about the giggles.”

She smiled gratefully and followed him on the continued journey down the steps. “With you around, there's _never_ anything to be done about my giggles.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help it. I did a thing.  
> [Tumblr link, because having issues](https://tokutenshi-doodles.tumblr.com/post/163592182024/the-divine-contemplates-cullens-letter-with-her)  
> 


	22. Defect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote another reaction drabble, this time from daddy Trevelyan.  
> [ Great Things](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11684565)

Letters came pouring in from all over, but that was more or less expected. Some were filled with questions, some accusations, and others thinly veiled hope. All of the rumors about what had happened previously in Kirkwall had caused much confusion and many letters admitted to not even knowing the Gallows _had_ a first enchanter or indeed any mages left at all. It was the general consensus that those not slain during the _rebellion_ had fled the city-state to create resistance cells and several groups of apostates had apparently been claiming their local leaders were in fact just such escapees. Most letters were simply addressed to _First Enchanter,_ telling Ebrisa that while the Divine had called Cullen and herself out, the Orlesian had not done so by name.

One of the few exceptions was from a very familiar hand and as Ebrisa read the swirling penmanship, she could practically hear Sebastian's rolling burr in her ear. He was glad for her and proud of her, knowing it would have been simpler to ignore the rules set down by the Chantry and foster a secret love affair that would only serve to cause further trouble when discovered. He also mentioned that though things seemed to be all sunshine and roses now, his promise to Cullen still stood.

“What does he mean by that?” Ebrisa asked once Cullen had finished reading over the prince's letter in the small yard. “What promise?”

The man laughed awkwardly, folding the parchment back up along it's creases. “Ah, well, he may have sworn to avenge you, should I prove a scoundrel and break your heart.”

“When did he do this?” Ebrisa twisted around on the bench, setting her now empty bowl back on the service tray.

“As he said his farewells,” Cullen sighed. “ _The Maker Himself will not be able to save you from me_ were his exact words, I believe.”

She blinked in surprise, the fluttering of her lashes apparently being needed to formulate a response. “He... knew about your feelings?”

Cullen dipped his head and picked his lunch back up, embarrassed expression fading as his eyes grew heavy with grief. “He was there when you were... I was not exactly acting calmly or rationally with you so close to...” He sighed out a deep, pained sound in hopes of banishing the dark thoughts before the memories took hold. “Rogues are clever people. He figured it out on his own.”

He was met with silence as Ebrisa thought it over and after a few beats of quiet he continued eating. Cullen didn't like talking about the night of the annulment and Ebrisa's close call even less. Though she was fully recovered and the event had forced him to cross a self-imposed hurdle and admit his feelings, the man still tried to avoid the topic whenever possible.

When he finished the stew, Ebrisa took his bowl wordlessly and set it with her own before latching onto his arm. “Not clever enough,” she huffed. “You'd never hurt me like that.”

Cullen smiled sadly down at her, knowing that while he would never intentionally break her heart, he couldn't guarantee she wouldn't suffer pain being with him. He hadn't had someone at his side before – hadn't _wanted_ someone there before – and it still frightened him that he might do something stupid and scare her away. Thoughts like that belittled Ebrisa's feelings for him and he tried to not harbor them, but after so many years of being on his own it was difficult to not think he would return to that solitude.

Ebrisa detached herself and looked away, a bubble of fear forming in Cullen's gut that he had said something he shouldn't have or didn't say something he should have. Maybe Ebrisa could sense his concerned thoughts – or maybe he had actually voiced them – and the woman was put off by his lack of confidence. Relationships were not covered in templar training and Cullen began to regret having spent his entire adolescent and adult life with the sheltered order, but then Ebrisa brought her eyes back to him and her warm expression banished every doubt from his mind.

She lifted a hand and trailed her fingers lightly down his cheek, gently urging him closer and tilting up her face. Cullen needed very little encouragement and leaned in to meet her, lips brushing against hers and sending sparks of excitement through him. They'd barely begun to further the contact into an actual kiss when a very loud throat clearing ruined the moment and broke them apart. Cullen fixed the templar at the doorway with a withering glare, hoping his obvious displeasure would have the soldier rethink his presence and send him scurrying away. No such luck.

“Pardon the interruption, ser,” Paxly began slowly, eying the enchanter skeptically before looking back at Cullen. “I have that report you requested about the coast. You said you wanted it right away.”

“Take it to my office,” Cullen sighed, his anger ebbing. “I'll join you shortly to go over it.” Paxly nodded and left, leaving the couple alone once again, and Cullen scrubbed his hands over his face. “We aren't even in the Templar Hall. How did someone find us so quickly?”

Cullen and Ebrisa were trying their best to remain professional while on duty, but being the leaders of the Gallows meant they were never really _off_ duty and living where they worked wasn't helping either. Even now, hiding in what was a largely unused section of the Circle on a lunch break, they could find no privacy. Despite the Divine's statement of support and the fact that everyone there had known Ebrisa for years, several templars were still suspicious and unhappy about the new relationship between their commander and _the mage._

It was difficult to not be offended or angered by the reaction, but Ebrisa convinced Cullen to give the others time to adjust and the space they tried to keep while working helped them adjust as well. It was strange to look up from his desk and see a closed door, but they needed the barrier to keep focused. It had barely been a week since they were allowed to begin a relationship and at times it seemed like an impossible dream, one that Cullen was certain he would wake from some morning and spend the entire day glowering. That hadn't happened yet, but that didn't mean it wouldn't.

Ebrisa gathered up the remnants of their lunch, effectively calling their short break to a close, and rose to her feet. She inclined her head towards the open door and smiled lightly at Cullen. “To work?”

He pushed off from the bench with a heavy sigh, taking an extra moment to erase the disappointment at their too brief time together. The man bent down and pressed a quick peck to Ebrisa's temple, a far cry from the kiss they had tried earlier, before straightening and squaring his shoulders. “To work.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Cullen and Ebrisa had decided, more or less out of necessity, that their offices were to be relationship-free zones. They had work to complete, subordinates to instruct, and it just wouldn't do to be caught in a compromising situation that would give anyone a reason to undermine their authority. Not to mention the fact that getting constantly interrupted was quickly losing its novelty and Cullen took longer and longer to get over his irritation each time someone walked in on them.

Meal hours seemed to be the only time they could safely get away – usually – as most of the Gallows' occupants were eating in the dining hall. Ebrisa would gather up food for them, then meet Cullen in a previously decided upon location. They moved around in hopes of eluding discovery and tonight they settled in a long-abandoned classroom that, despite its disuse, remained dust free thanks to the attentive custodians.

 

“Haren Merrill will be coming over in the next few days to evaluate the Tranquil,” Ebrisa mentioned casually, not even looking up from her meal.

Cullen did, and rather curiously at that. “To what standard? The Dalish have nothing to do with Tranquil.”

“She's looking for steady hands and rune crafting proficiency,” the woman clarified. “There's apparently a lot of skills she'll need to pass on.”

“Skills for...?”

“Tattooing.”

He set down his fork and pushed his meal aside, the scrapping noise it made against the desk being loud enough to finally draw Ebrisa's eyes up. “Tattooing.”

She nodded. “We discussed it at the party and figured out the best way to always have my glyph with me was if it was essentially part of me, but for it to actually work it has to be in lyrium. That's why we need a Tranquil to assist.”

“Maker's Breath, I didn't think you were _serious_ ,” Cullen chuckled. “Frankly, I didn't think you would even remember saying it.”

Ebrisa set down her own utensil, sliding her tray to mirror Cullen's across the high desk. “And why wouldn't I remember?”

“Well, you were drunk,” he replied, voice lowered somewhat to prevent a passerby from hearing him through the classroom door.

The enchanter dipped her head in embarrassment, the memory of waking up with a blinding headache and locked in her own office covered in blankets still fresh in her mind. “Yes, that's true, but I remember my entire conversation with Haren Merrill.”

“The, uh, _entire_ conversation?” Cullen rubbed at his neck and glanced away briefly.

“Yes,” Ebrisa mumbled, reaching for her cup in hopes a drink of cold water would banish the warmth from her cheeks.

“I see.” He pulled his hand away, suddenly looking a little nervous. “Do you remember sharing some of that conversation with me?”

She furrowed her brow as she drank, trying to recall anything that happened after leaving the Viscount Keep, but came up with only a hazy hole in her memory. Instead, she went over her conversation with the elves and tried to find what was relevant enough in it to share with Cullen. He was already aware of her progress with the ward, so what else could she have mentioned to him?

It hit her so suddenly that the woman choked on her water, slamming the cup down with one hand while she coughed and sputtered into the other. Cullen was at her side in an instant, rounding the desk and patting her back in an attempt to help coax the water out. When she had finally stopped and could breathe normal again, Ebrisa looked up at him, knowing she had to be an unattractive sight. Water dripped off her chin and puddled in her palm, face red from coughing and embarrassment, as her eyes pleaded for it to have been a joke. When Cullen only smiled at her awkwardly, she knew it hadn't been.

“Sweet Maker,” she groaned, covering her face with her dry hand. “Tell me I didn't say something about what you are _allowed_.”

The man cleared his throat, stilling his hand from its patting to rest lightly on her back. “Well, I _would_ , but that would be lying.” Ebrisa groaned again, but Cullen somehow found the resolve to press forward with the conversation. “You also asked if I, um, wanted to see you naked.”

Whatever humiliation she felt before morphed to mortification and Ebrisa resisted the urge to slip from her stool and hide under the desk. Isabella had accused her of seducing a guard the first time she was drunk, so perhaps being forward was just something she did while inebriated. And yet, if she had propositioned Cullen, then why had she woken up alone and fully dressed?

Ebrisa lowered her hands and gripped the edge of the desk, eyes locked on her fingernails. “And you said you didn't want to.”

“I said nothing of the sort,” Cullen corrected. “I refrained from answering at the time for fear that you would start stripping in the middle of the stairs.”

“Well, when we got back, you could have...”

“Could have what? Taken advantage of you when you were clearly in no condition to protest?” He set a hand on her knee, swiveling the enchanter on her stool until she faced him. “Do you honestly think that's something I'd do?”

She was unable to meet his gaze, hesitating to lift her eyes after hearing the twinge of hurt in his voice. “I don't...maybe? Its just that – I mean – if you're allowed... how can I protest? If its something I'm supposed to do, then...”

A long, tired sigh filled the room. “I should have known you were going to say something like that.” Cullen took hold of her hands, rubbing her knuckles with his thumbs. “I don't know how other people act in relationships, and I don't care. I want to do things right by you, Ebrisa, and that means not forcing you into anything you aren't ready for.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers and closing his eyes. “Don't worry about what other people say _is allowed_ or feel pressured to act because you think its _expected_. We will move at our own pace, and I'm letting you set it.”

“You won't become impatient with me?” Ebrisa mumbled, still sounding uncertain. “What if its a really long time before I feel comfortable with... _intimacies_.”

Cullen chuckled silently, the only clue to the action being the vibration of his mirth through their point of contact. “Templar discipline, Ebrisa. If I've been able to restrain myself for this long, then I can wait a while longer.”

She pulled back and looked up at him hesitantly, finding the man fixing her with a gaze that made her insides twist. It was a strange feeling, but not unpleasant or unfamiliar, and she had to break eye contact before it grew too intense to handle. “So... so you aren't put off by my scar? It's large and unsightly and-”

“-And are you offering to show me?” Cullen smirked lightly, still holding onto Ebrisa's hands, and brought one up to kiss her fingers. “I think it's only fair to warn you that I would likely be too distracted by the rest of you to form an opinion on the matter.”

She fidgeted nervously, the twisting feeling growing as her face heated, and she struggled to find a reply. It was unfair for Cullen to declare he would follow her lead and then say things that made his desire so obvious. He said he wouldn't pressure her, but could he really wait for her to be ready before acting? Ebrisa had always been taught that certain things were only permitted between man and wife, that she had to save herself for a husband, but as a mage, she could never marry.

She loved Cullen and wanted to be at his side for as long as she drew breath, but Divine Justinia had given them enough preferential treatment as it was and to hope for any further concessions was ridiculous. Say Ebrisa was able to overcome her parents' teachings and allowed herself to be intimate with the man she loved, what would happen? She tried to think of the reasons her mother gave of why chastity was so vital, but most of them didn't seem to apply to her any longer. Ebrisa was no noblewoman, she didn't need to be concerned with honoring her family or fear becoming a social pariah, but there was one thing that still struck a cord with her. There were herbs to prevent unexpected pregnancies and illegitimate children, but they were not always effective and if she and Cullen had a child, the Chantry would take it away. The sudden realization dampened her mood instantly and cooled the warmth both outside and inside her body.

She could never marry. She could never give Cullen a child. She could never give him a family. Maker, he deserved so much more than she could offer.

“Forgive me, I didn't mean to come on too strong,” Cullen said softly, running his knuckles lightly up and down her cheek. “You do have the right to slap me, if need be.”

Ebrisa shook her head, uncertain how to voice her thoughts or if she even should, but was given no time to think on it as the door swung open and an agitated, sweating Carver appeared. He took a few seconds to catch his breath before speaking, obviously having spent a good deal of time running around looking for them. “Knight-Commander,” he panted, still winded but in a hurry. “Something is happening. You need to come _immediately_.”

Cullen didn't hesitate, releasing his hold on Ebrisa and swiftly making his way to the door. “Explain.”

The enchanter slid from her stool to follow, but Carver threw out a hand to keep her back.

“It would be best if you stayed here,” Carver cautioned.

She paused, confused. “But if something is going on, I should-”

“- _No_ , Ebrisa,” he cut her off firmly, eyes so stern that they froze her in place just as much as his use of her name. “Just... stay here.” Carver looked to Cullen, the commander now more serious than he had been before. “I'll explain everything on the way, ser.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Cullen thought Carver had been exaggerating, as getting excitable seemed to be a Hawke family trait, but the scene in the entry yard was just as chaotic as he had described. Templars were running to and fro lugging supplies, knights were arguing with each other, and some fist fights had even broken out. It apparently started in the dining hall with some sort of rally and spilled out through the barracks and corridors, building in intensity until finally erupting with the man responsible standing calmly in the center of it all.

“What is the meaning of this?” Cullen bellowed as he stormed down the steps, his voice carrying over the rabble. Packs hit the floor, arguments ceased, and punches stopped in mid-air as the whole of the yard turned to face the knight-commander – all save the instigator.

“That's exactly what _I_ said,” the man chuckled, patting his hand on the top of Meredith's tomb. He inhaled deeply, seemingly taking comfort in the stone prison, then turned to face the head of the local order. “Face facts, Knight-Commander, being a templar isn't the same as it used to be.”

Samson. There had been no sightings of any of the exiled templars, so Cullen thought them dead long ago. They had not been given much lyrium, and with Samson so addicted, he was the last person Cullen expected to survive. He had more than survived, he seemed... more in control than Cullen remember seeing him in a very long time.

“What are you doing here?” Cullen growled, now understanding Carver's insistence that Ebrisa not come along.

Samson tossed his hands into the air, looking around in amusement. “Again, he repeats my thoughts. Perhaps we are more similarly minded than I thought.”

“Unlikely.”

The traitor dropped his hands, but the amused smirk on his face remained. “Now, now, Knight-Commander. No need to make a scene. Didn't you say before that the templars here were free to leave if they wish? Well, after getting news of the latest injustice from our leash holders, I just had to come back and remind my brothers of that.”

Cullen came to a stop before Samson, just out of arms reach but well within striking distance of his sword. Both their blades were sheathed, but the Fereldan was confident he still had the quicker draw should it come to blows. By all rights, he should strike the traitor down where he stood, but the older man did have a point – the templars could leave if they wanted to.

“What injustice do you speak of?” Cullen had not heard of anything recently and the idea that Samson would get news outside the city before him was absurd.

Samson scoffed at the question and folded his arms. “You, obviously. You and your damned harpy. How is it that a templar and a mage can be involved but a templar merely passing notes from a mage to his lover gets removed from the Order?”

“That was Meredith's decision, not the Chantry's,” Cullen reminded.

“Exactly!” Samson slammed his fist on the stone encasement beside him. “Meredith followed the laws laid down by the Chantry, even against her own men, but the Divine thinks she can just ignore them whenever she wants! The Chantry has become corrupt, failing to back the templars against these whiny mages just as Elthina failed to support Meredith. Think of all the bloodshed that could have been spared if the Maker's chosen had only worked with us from the beginning!” Cheers rang out across the yard, the defectors loudly agreeing and urging Samson on. “Templars protect the Chant and its laws, but the dithering old ladies in Orlais only enforce the ones that strike their fancy, the ones that suit their needs at the time! The Templar Order was great once, and it can be again, but not under the thumb of such a flippant Divine!”

Cullen shook his head, knowing that the others were too riled up to be convinced of an opposing opinion. “Think carefully,” he said calmly, trying to appeal to their sense, “if you leave the Order this way, there will be no coming back. If you leave like this, the Chantry will not grant you any stipend of lyrium.” Soft murmurs drifted around the yard, as though some were beginning to sway.

“Ah, yes, your leash!” Samson laughed loudly, holding his arms out wide. “How long have I been outside the Chantry's good graces? Do I look sick or delirious to you?” He turned in a slow circle, addressing the crowd. “I am stronger than ever before and see things more clearly than any of you. I have found another way and will share it with all who come with me, but only if you follow now.”

The arguing and fighting did not resume. Those who decided to leave gathered up the supplies they had hastily grabbed and headed to the docks while their sworn brothers who tried to stop them before stood silently back. This was their decision to make, even if they made it poorly.

Samson watched the procession disappear down the steps, an almost smug look of pride overtaking his face. “This is the beginning,” he told himself before moving towards the portcullis. He paused at the gate and looked over his shoulder at the remaining templars and their commander. “Looks like you just lost a third of your men, Rutherford. Hope the witch is worth it, cause frankly, I found her a little lacking myself.”

He was too far away for Cullen to strike, but the Fereldan unsheathed his sword in a flash and sent a loud ringing echoing around the yard. Cullen was an accomplished soldier with over a decade of training with melee weapons, but he would trade all of that away for a single, well-placed shot from a bow right about now.  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice that there is no longer a question mark by the chapter numbers. That's because I finished writing this story tonight! It feels a little rushed, but I always go back and edit before posting so that gives me time to smooth it out.


	23. Cure

Months and months ago Ebrisa had written to the Hasmal Circle in hopes that they could search their records and corroborate at least part of Mother's story. She had nothing for them to go off of save the name _Renata_ and knew it would be an arduous task to sift through decades of registration records, but Ebrisa needed to know if the spirit had been telling the truth. So much had changed in Mother since the annulment; she was quick to anger, fiercely protective, and irrationally suspicious of Cullen's true intentions with her charge. Ebrisa needed to know if Mother had once been a mage named Renata, because if her past life proved true, then that meant at least part of the sweet, caring spirit that came to Ebrisa in her moment of need years ago was still there.

It had been so long since she sent the missive that the enchanter had all but given up on a reply, so having a letter from the northern Circle handed to her in the late morning took her by surprise. It wasn't from the first enchanter she'd written to, but a senior enchanter who had been delegated the task shortly after the Divine's statement was released. Apparently, as a Loyalist heavy Circle, Hasmal's mages felt compelled to assist any mage who was so favored by the Most Holy.

Ebrisa was so shocked by the information contained in the letter that she forced herself to sleep right at her desk just to speak with Mother sooner. Though, she really shouldn't be calling her that anymore.

 

Ebrisa walked up the spiraling steps, unphased as the candles lit themselves one by one at her approach. There were many common rooms in the fortress, but last year a private chamber appeared and Mother quickly laid claim to it. The spirit normally came running the moment Ebrisa entered the Fade, but when she didn't, Mother could be found in the single room at the top of the tower. The enchanter usually knocked before entering, but today she had no time for manners and even less for games.

The door swung open effortlessly and Ebrisa walked right into the round room, running her eyes over the books lining the walls before settling them on the burning brazier in the center surrounded by a ring of cushions. Fire flared up to the ceiling without warning, the flames twisting and morphing until Mother's spirit form emerged. She stepped out of the metal pit, surprised to see the enchanter in the middle of the day, and rushed to pull on her human guise.

“Sweetling? It has not been that long since we parted. Is everything alright?” Mother swept her hand over her hair, dispelling the last bit of fire into the air.

Ebrisa rubbed at her forehead, trying to arrange her thoughts properly. “Hasmal's Circle has finally gotten back to me.”

“Oh?” Mother sat down on one of the cushions, patting the seat beside her in invitation. “About what, dear one?”

The enchanter hesitated, shifting forward and back a few times before at last joining the spirit. “About you.”

Mother tilted her head and smiled in mild confusion. “Me? Whatever for?”

“You told me about who you were before, or rather, you told be part.” Ebrisa let out a slow breath, gathering up the courage to continue. “You were a mage named Renata.” She raised her head, looking the spirit directly in the eyes. “Renata _Lanmour_.”

The spirit fell quiet, looking back at the fire. “I wasn't certain if they recorded my family name or not.”

Ebrisa studied the spirit's profile, noting the petite Lanmour nose that she herself bore, and wondered how she never figured out Mother's identity on her own. The spirit had dropped clues about her heritage, about her history, about why she looked the way she did. She accepted the name _Mother_ gladly, despite knowing full well she was a different relation.

“Based on the letter Enchanter Lynden sent, you were killed trying to escape the Circle nearly two decades ago, meaning you are not an ancestor by any means.” Ebrisa waited for the spirit to look at her again before continuing. “To resemble my mother so much, you can't be too far removed from the main line.”

“Indeed _,_ not far from it at all,” the spirit sighed. “Galatea and I were closer in age than you and Aurelia, yet our relationship was no less strained. She never liked me much, even before my powers manifested, and still I can not fathom why. Perhaps if we had a brother that could share some of the familial obligations, she would not have been so obsessed with perfection.”

“ _If we_...” Ebrisa echoed, the pieces finally clicking in place. “You're my aunt.”

The spirit smiled softly, the curve of her lips weighed down with sadness. “She tried to blame me, you know, when you came into your gift. I had never seen you, never knew about you, and one day a letter arrived cursing my name for tainting you.” She reached out and took hold of the enchanter's hands. “Can you imagine? Being cut off from your family for so long, and then being crushed like that?”

“I can,” Ebrisa mumbled. Bann Trevelyan disowning her had not come from a place of anger or hatred, but it had still been a painful, heavy blow.

Mother nodded, tightening her grip until her knuckles turned white. “Yes, yes of course! We are so alike, dear one. I had hoped to shield you from pains like that, but I didn't. Now? Now I am much stronger. Now I won't hesitate to step in when you need me. Now... now, I can truly protect you.”

Ebrisa tried to pull her hands free, but the spirit had them in a death grip. “You can't act on your own like that against others, I won't allow it.”

“But sweetling, I can not stand by while wicked people do you harm! You were denied a mother's love, but you _will_ have a mother's fierce protection!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
A shrill ringing cut through the otherwise quiet office, pulling Ebrisa from sleep and ending the conversation early. It was a noise she had not heard before and the enchanter slowly made her way around the room, seeking out its source as her mind gradually cleared. She located the ringing inside a mostly unused cabinet and quickly unlocked the small door to cease the racket, starring in confusion at a crystal resting on a series of vibrating metal disks. The stone was half the size of her palm and pulsed with light, urging her to pick it up if for no other reason than to stop the flashes and high-pitched rattling.

Ebrisa gently removed the crystal from it's base, silencing the ringing, and the largest face flashed one final time before words began taking form on the surface. It was at that moment Ebrisa realized what the stone was – a sending crystal. They were old magic – Elvhen magic – and because they worked with forces modern mages did not fully understand, sending crystals were not used lightly within the Circles. She brought it closer to her eyes, quickly reading the message before it could vanish. She read it a second and third time just to be certain her mind wasn't playing tricks on her, then clutched the stone to her chest and rushed out of her office and right into the very solid knight-commander.

Cullen shot out a hand and caught her around the waist, preventing her backwards stumbling from sending the woman to the floor. “Maker's Breath, Ebrisa. What's going on in there?”

She grabbed onto his arm to assist in balancing herself, eyes wide with the still present shock of the magical missive. “The Tranquil!”

“I highly doubt the Tranquil were banging pots together in your office.”  
“No, no! A message came in about them – about a _cure_ for Tranquility.” Ebrisa held the crystal out towards the templar, hoping the words had not decided to disappear so soon.

Cullen took hold of the stone with one hand, the other absentmindedly resting on Ebrisa's hip now that she didn't need the added support. He read it quietly, looking for any hidden meaning or unclear phrases left open to interpretation, but found none. He knew the author of the message from his days at Kinloch Hold and Archmage Wynne had never been one to mince words. If the well-respected mage said a cure for Tranquility had been found, then he believed it. Or rather, he believed that _Wynne_ believed it.

“I didn't even think it was possible.” Ebrisa said softly, glancing briefly at Cullen's hand but doing nothing to remove it from its resting place. “What does it mean?”

“Seems to be fairly straight forward,” Cullen responded evenly. “A way has been conceived to restore a Tranquil's connection with the Fade.”

“No, I meant, what happens now? Are the Tranquil all to be restored? Will the Rite no longer be invoked?”

Cullen frowned slightly. “Is that what you would have done here? Turn every Tranquil back into a mage?”

After she had adopted command over the emotionless occupants of the Circle, Ebrisa had looked into all of their records. She discovered, much to her distress, that the punishment had not always suited the crime. “Not everyone,” she relented. “It would need to be a case-by-case decision. While there are many amongst us who were not strong enough in will to keep demons at bay and their own powers in check, others were made Tranquil for seemingly frivolous reasons.”

“Frivolous?” Cullen help back a snort, but allowed his eyes to roll. “You make it sound as though we punished them out of hand.”

“Not _out of hand,_ just...” Ebrisa waved her hand in a small circle, searching for the right words. “Too severely. Wouldn't time in isolation have served just as well – if not better – for infractions like sneaking out and unauthorized casting?”

“ _Infractions_?” He stared down at her, incredulous she would use such a light term for those acts. “Leaving the Gallows unsupervised lead to escape attempts, artifact smuggling, and forming the mage underground. Casting spells freely and without cause lead to accidents and blood magic. We learned the hard way that simple incarceration was not enough to stop a pattern of behavior from escalating for some people.”

“That's why I said it would be a case-by-case decision,” Ebrisa huffed, taking a single step back to better look into Cullen's eyes. His hand dropped as she moved, breaking their physical connection and alerting the templar to what he had been doing. “Take Serrah Ella, for instance. She fled the Circle because she hadn't heard anything from her parents for almost an entire year. Is being concerned for your family cause enough to have your love for them stripped away?”

Cullen folded his arms, pulling up the incident in his mind. “Her escape lead to the death of a dozen templars within our very walls.”

“But not by her hand,” she reminded. “When templars caught up with her later, didn't she go peacefully?”

“Perhaps, but if we were perceived as being soft with apostates, then we'd have a dozen violent escape attempts for every peaceful one.” His frowned deepened, feeling very much as though he was being judged for the Order's past actions.

It was Meredith that signed and approved each Rite of Tranquility request, but she rarely read the full reports and had relied on Cullen to brief her instead. He was still confident that he summarized each report fairly and hadn't let prejudice mislead him, but was that always the case? Had some facts been skipped in favor of time? Would those facts have swayed Meredith into declining the request? She barely even hesitated to sign her name in the later years of her command, practically approving every recommended punishment the moment it appeared on her desk, and by then she was just as likely to condemn a mage to no life as she was a life without emotions.

“So it was done as a deterrent? Make an example out of one mage in hopes of keeping others from following suit?” It was Ebrisa's turn to frown.

“That was the way of things,” he sighed tiredly.

“Punishing someone doesn't stop another person from wanting to do the same thing, it just makes them go about it a different way.” Ebrisa lowered her eyes to her hands, watching her fingers twist about as she fiddled with them. “Like Serrah Maddox.”

“Maddox?”

She nodded timidly. “Everyone knows why he had been made Tranquil, and I'm not talking about the official charge of _corrupting the moral integrity of a templar_. He fell in love, and now he can't even recall what that felt like. I knew why he was punished, but that didn't stop me from doing the same thing.”

“That's different.” Cullen quickly unfolded his arms to cup the enchanter's face, tilting it back up so she could look at him again. “We have a sanctioned relationship, he didn't. Maddox's focus was waning and his casting became wildly uncontrolled. He snuck around, slipped out of the Circle on numerous occasions for rendezvous, and dragged others in to help him do it. That love letter Samson was caught delivering? In it Maddox spoke of absconding with his sweetheart.”

“It's not different,” she whispered. “Just because we can be open now doesn't mean my feelings suddenly manifested. I've spaced out thinking about you when I should have been working. I've treasured each stolen moment we've had alone. I've fantasized about running away with you.” Ebrisa reached up and placed her hands over his, holding them to her cheeks. “Knowing I could be made Tranquil for loving you didn't stop me from doing it, it only made me hide my heart until it nearly shattered from the strain.”

Cullen leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers and letting out a shaky breath. The thought of Ebrisa being unable to love because of Tranquility or heartbreak frightened him more than he thought possible and he wondered how close she truly was to giving up hope on them being together. “I would have picked up the shards and pieced your heart back together, no matter how long it took.” It was a cheesy and assuredly lame thing to say, but Cullen discovered he rarely had a filter around this woman anymore.

“I know you would,” Ebrisa softly replied, a smile in her voice. She nudged his head playfully before pulling back and lowering her hands to rest on his forearms, the coolness of his vambrace bringing her out of the loving haze she'd slipped into. “So much has changed in the past year. Can't the Tranquil be allowed to change, too?”

He sighed, wishing Ebrisa hadn't changed back to the original topic. “I suppose... a cure for Tranquility does present more options. Different lengths of time subjected to it depending on the severity of the offense?” Cullen shook his head. “This is all hypothetical at this point. We know nothing of how this cure is achieved and it is ultimately the Divine's decision on its implementation.”

“Does that mean our fight is over?”

Cullen chuckled quietly, slipping a hand back into her hair. “You only wish to call it that instead of a _discussion_ because I conceded at the end.”

She flushed slightly, her single giggle confirming his suspicions. “You know, you get these little wrinkles on your nose when you're scowling. They're quite attractive.”

“Oh?” He ran his knuckles up and down her cheek with his free hand, smirking just a bit. “Then all my years of anger and frustration were good for something after all.” He leaned in for a kiss, but met fingers instead of his intended target.

“Need I reminded you, Knight-Commander, that our offices are strictly for business?” Ebrisa flushed further, dropping her eyes bashfully. “I'm afraid further shows of affection will have to wait.”

Cullen pulled her hand away, entwining their fingers. “Need _I_ remind you, First Enchanter, that technically we aren't in either of our offices?” He leaned forward again, stopping just short to whisper against her lips. “I'm afraid I don't much feel like waiting today.” With that he made full contact, finding Ebrisa eagerly receptive despite her mild protest.

He didn't like arguing with her, but it was sometimes necessary to perform their duties. Some had expressed concern that by being in a relationship with Ebrisa, Cullen would give in on every issue so it was imperative that the two of them stick to their points of views and opinions to make it apparent they still had their own minds. Discussions did sometimes become heated and could be labeled as fights, but they did their best to stay professional. Though Ebrisa was a Loyalist, there would always be some issue that mages and templars just could not see eye-to-eye on and on those topics the once meek woman would stand her ground with a rarely seen fierceness.

They tried to not let their personal relationship interfere with their work or cloud their judgment, but today Ebrisa had let it slip and Cullen couldn't just let her walk away when she'd stirred up so many emotions inside him. He wanted to embrace her tightly and reassure her of his love with kisses and touches that would be better given behind closed doors instead of in an open corridor in the Templar Hall.

As though to reaffirm this, a loud clap rang out down the corridor, the invisible sound wave breaking Cullen and Ebrisa apart, albeit awkwardly. Garrett and Marian stood at the entry door, arms still up in an enthusiastic high-five as they grinned at the couple.

“Must you do that _every_ time?” Cullen grumbled, trying to mask his embarrassment with anger.

“We devoted a lot of time, effort, and tears into this relationship,” Garrett called back, dropping his hand to his side. “Is it so wrong for us to celebrate our success?”

“As I recall, you did more harm than good.”

Marian tisked and wagged a finger back and forth. “Refute all you like, ser, but your lady love didn't confess until after I told her about what Varric wrote.”

Cullen's anger easily overtook the embarrassment this time. “He put that nonsense about demons in his book?!”

Ebrisa, who had been a bystander to the conversation so far, curiously piped up. “What book?”

Garrett and Marian's grins grew eerily wide and the enchanter instantly regretted asking.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Trespasser DLC, Dorian can give the Inquisitor a sending crystal so that they can verbally communicate instantaneously while separated. That's great, but that's Tevinter hardware. In the "Dawn of the Seeker" movie type thingy, the bad guys use an "elven crystal" to communicate. They speak into it and the words appear on the receiving end. I decided to go with that version over the Inq one for the very simple reason that the message Wynne passes to Shale to send out from Montsimard's Circle gets sent to all of the Circles. Unless you had someone standing by the sending crystal all day every day, you would miss the message!  
> I toyed with the idea of having the message transcribed onto parchment, ala Thedas telegraph, but that seemed too... involved. An alarm to let someone know "you got mail" seemed a good compromise, considering its never mentioned in "Asunder" how the sending crystals in the Circles DO work.
> 
> Can you just imagine Vivienne's nonchalant reaction to a crystal imbued golem showing up at her Circle and demanding to 'use the phone', as it were?  
> ...  
> Nope. Not gonna draw it.  
> Not gonna... not...  
> ...  
> there might be a comic on Wednesday....


	24. Unsafe

It was a common misconception that Tranquil had no will of their own. They performed whatever task assigned to them, no matter how menial or unpleasant, but not because they couldn't refuse. It simply was more logical to comply with orders because they understood the task needed to be done and it was irrelevant who it was performed by. Ebrisa discovered years ago when she was rearranging the Tranquil was that what they truly lacked were wants and personal goals.

A cure for Tranquility could see many of her charges returned to their former selves and Ebrisa began to wonder what that would be like. She was kind to them and they were civil with her, but when they were mages that had not always been the case. Ella hadn't liked her at all, but was now one of the more competent healers in the Gallows. Would she revert back to her earlier disdain? Would she be grateful or resentful for the new skills and duties Ebrisa helped her with?

Once she began going down that road, Ebrisa couldn't stop the line of thinking and started speculating how each Tranquil would behave when they had their emotions restored. Would Feynriel still have feelings beyond friendship for her? Would Maddox be jealous of her relationship with Cullen? Would Blaine still be squeamish around blood and refuse to assist in the infirmary any longer? The Tranquil had been removed from their feelings and wants for so long that it was possible they wouldn't know what to do with them when they had emotions and desires once again.

If the Gallows' mage population was restored, would Ebrisa stay first enchanter, or would she be deposed for a more experienced leader like Dalton? And lessons! Maker, she'd have to assign instructors and arrange lessons again. There would be so much work to get the Circle running like it used to, but should it run like it used to? If changes were to be made, now would be the time to do it.

“First Enchanter.”

Perhaps it would be better, given the city's current view on magic, to send all of the restored mages to proper Circles were they could be directed by a true leader.

“First Enchanter,” Maddox repeated, his voice the same level it was before.

“Oh!” Ebrisa cleared her throat and sat up straighter in an attempt to recover from her spacing. “Yes?”

“I have reproduced the glyph at its smallest possible size, given the dimension of the tools needed.” He handed the sketch over and waited patiently as the enchanter studied it.

Merrill had determined earlier that week that Maddox was the best suited for assisting her with the tattooing process and had begun instructing him on the proper use of her Dalish tools. When the elf had first shown the instruments to Ebrisa and explained the process, the enchanter was terrified. The reason vallaslin did not fade over the years was partially because of the special ink used and partially because the tattoos were done in two parts. The design was cut into the skin with a halla bone knife, then the ink was tapped in place within the slices using a pronged ironbark chisel and mallet. It would be a long, painful process, but the vallaslin ink had certain properties that allowed it to mix with lyrium dust without negating any of the magic and Merrill would only permit its use if the entire procedure was done in accordance with Dalish tradition.

“It's still quite large,” Ebrisa sighed. She had hoped for something discreet that could be easily concealed, but the combination of so many runes forced the size to nearly six inches and that made hiding it on her body difficult.

“It can not be any smaller,” Maddox reminded and the response only made Ebrisa sigh again.

“That's alright, I know you did all you could to condense it.” She smiled at the man faintly. “I apologize for giving you such a strange looking glyph”

“That is unnecessary. I have come to understand it quite well through my numerous attempts at recreating it.”

In addition to the ward likely needing to be placed in a visible spot, the size meant that more ink would be needed and the process would take much longer than she was counting on. Fenris had relayed everything he could recall about his own tattoos which, given what he had said previously about losing his memory, was a surprising amount. Danarius was immensely proud of himself for recreating the forgotten magic and bragged about his achievement to any who would listen. The magister kept the details about the patterns to himself, but something Fenris could easily explain was the ratio of lyrium dust required and how long it needed to become fully integrated in the ink.

Ebrisa would have felt better if Fenris was still around to supervise the process, but after he passed on the information, the elf had left Kirkwall. Though her reasons were much different, though she was her own guinea pig, though she was willing, Fenris could not be anywhere near the creation of Ebrisa's tattoo and wanted no further part of putting another person through the pain he had experienced.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The first time an activity report like this had crossed his desk Cullen was irritated, the second time he was frustrated but content to let Aveline handle it, now – the third time receiving a similar report about caravans being attacked outside Kirkwall, he was infuriated. Normally, he would not get reports of this nature at all, but these latest additions to the profession of bandit used to be soldiers under his command.

It had barely been a week since Samson snuck in through the caverns and strode out the main gate with a sizable force of once loyal templars in tow. Some men he expected to defect – Karras, Paxly, Shep – but others had taken him by surprise – Ruvena, Hugh, Margitte. If Cullen had thought himself an inept leader watching his subordinates walk away from an order they had sworn themselves to, he was surely an incompetent failure now that they had turned to a life of crime.

Aveline had formed a militia the year before to better protect Kirkwall's citizens from outside threats, letting the city-guard handle affairs within the walls. They had tried and failed several times to apprehend the ex-templar highwaymen, returning to the city carrying their own dead and wounded instead of captured bandits. The volunteer army had seemed fairly competent, but they were clearly out of their depths now that they faced soldiers who had survived Meredith's arduous training regimen.

Cullen registered the knock at his door and snapped out an invitation, but could not tear his eyes or focus from the report in front of him until the visitor spoke.

“I don't mean to interrupt,” Ebrisa began cautiously as she closed the door behind herself, “but I've received something rather exciting in today's mail that you should know.”

He flattened the report and slid it to the side, pushing it out of his vision and out of his mind. He smiled tiredly up at the enchanter, thankful she had decided to visit him now instead of waiting for supper to discuss whatever it was. “Go right ahead. I could certainly do with some good news, especially if its being delivered by such a lovely sight.”

Ebrisa flushed, hiding her blushing cheeks behind the letter in her hands and looking off to the side. “You forget yourself, Knight-Commander.”

Cullen chuckled and leaned forward, reaching out a hand for the very official looking missive. “On the contrary, First Enchanter. I've said nothing I wouldn't have a month ago.” The woman nodded slightly, passing the letter over and waiting as Cullen opened it. He paused after only a brief inspection, his earlier anger returning. “Lord Seeker Lambert.”

The Seekers of Truth were a powerful organization that answered directly to the Divine. They investigated abuses of power from both templars and mages alike and whenever a seeker of any rank showed up at a Circle, it always meant something had gone terribly wrong. Mages saw them as little more than an offshoot of templars, but true templars harbored a sort of innate disdain for them. If you had a seeker roaming your halls, it meant the organization had discerned some degree of failure on your part and had come to clean up a perceived mess.

A flash of fear ran up Cullen's spine, wondering if, despite the Divine's sanction, some of the rumors flying around about himself and Ebrisa had gained enough credence to warrant a formal investigation. He restrained a growl at the idea, irritated that the seekers could pretend to be performing their duty now when Meredith had run unchecked. If the seekers had arrived in Kirkwall years ago, would any of the ensuing mess have happened?

“Exciting is not the word I would use to describe any seeker coming to the Gallows, especially not the Lord Seeker,” Cullen grumbled.

She muffled a giggled behind tightly closed lips, shaking her head lightly. “Cullen, if you could be bothered to actually read the letter instead of just scowling at the signature, you'd see the opposite is true.”

He sceptically did as she asked and discovered that it wasn't at all a letter of intent for investigation, but an invitation to the White Spire, where Lambert was acting commander. “A conclave to discuss the Rite of Tranquility cure. I'm surprised the Divine is seeking the mage opinion about this.”

“And why shouldn't she?” Ebrisa moved around the desk, perching herself on the edge by Cullen's side. “Word about the cure went out to every Circle and there are many who would not simply stand by and let Her Holiness decided how to proceed. With tensions so high, you can be certain there would be an outcry if options _weren't_ explored by the mage population.”

“Considering how things got out of hand in Cumberland, I don'y expect this meeting to go much smoother come Firstfall.”

She hummed softly in agreement, kicking a foot lightly and running her slipper over the stone floor. “I've never been to Orlais. When do you think I should leave?”

Cullen turned to her, brow furrowed slightly. “What?”

“Well, it will be winter by then and I don't know how that will slow travel. I don't want to show up too late and miss the conclave,” Ebrisa explained. “Then, of course, I don't want to arrive too early and be a burden to the hosting Circle. How many days before the gathering do you think is appropriate?”

“You intend to go?” He stared at her incredulously. “You must be joking.”

“And why shouldn't I?” Ebrisa returned his expression. “The invitation is for all first enchanters and I likely have a closer relationship with our Tranquil than any of the others do.”

“Your qualifications are not the issue, Ebrisa. Don't you know what's been going on in Orlais recently? Civil war has broken out – its unsafe!”

The enchanter frowned, pushing herself off the desk and standing fully on her feet once again. “I'm certain they are taking every precaution to ensure we are shielded from the political turmoil. After all, this is a Chantry matter and neither side would dare interfere for fear of gaining the Divine's disapproval.”

“Perhaps,” Cullen relented. “But getting to Val Royeaux is another matter entirely. It is a long trek and the road is fraught with dangers.” His eyes left hers, settling on the activity report once again. He could easily imagine Samson and his traitors laying in wait to ambush Ebrisa's travel party. He could plainly envision the disgraced man pulling Ebrisa aside and enacting some torturous form of revenge on her. He could vividly see her beaten and bloody body laying broken in the dirt along the road. “You can't leave Kirkwall.”

“Are you forbidding me from going?” She set her hands on her hips, frown deepening. “Cullen, this is a meeting of the first enchanters, held at the White Spire at the Divine's behest. You have no authority to order me not to attend.”

“It's unsafe,” Cullen repeated, firmer than the first time. He narrowed his eyes on the report, trying to banish the images that had just flooded his mind.

So long as Samson and his men were out there, it would never be safe for Ebrisa.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
It was still early morning, but the squad of templars were already gathered in the entry yard and prepared to go. They'd polished their armor, sharpened their swords, and packed enough rations and other supplies that would hopefully last them long enough to track down the defectors' base and return victoriously. The previous ambush sites had given some indication of the region to focus on, but it was still a large expanse of road and mountain trails. At least there wouldn't be any snow to contend with just yet.

“You're being irrational,” Ebrisa huffed, following closely behind Cullen as he moved around making final arrangements. He'd only told her that morning about his plans, plans that he had made the day before without hesitation, and she was none too happy. “Just leave this up to the militia. They deal with bandits and the like all the time!”

“These are not mere bandits, Ebrisa, and I have given the militia several chances already.” Cullen paused momentarily to properly secure his shield on his back. “This is now as it should have been before – a templar matter.”

She took the opportunity to quickly cut in front of the man, preventing him from continuing on right away. “Fine then, its a templar matter. Send the squad on their way and pray for their success. _Here_.”

He _was_ being irrational, that bit he easily agreed with, but he couldn't help it. It made very little sense for the knight-commander to go out with the hunting party, leaving the majority of the templar forces under the command of his knight-captain for an undetermined length of time, but he could not shake the thought that he _had_ to be out there, that he had to be the one to take down Samson. Cullen let out a tired breath, looking away from the enchanter before sidestepping her and marching towards the entry yard. “This is my responsibility.”

“Just because these men _used_ to be under your command does _not_ mean you are liable for their actions now,” Ebrisa nearly shouted as she hurried to match his quickened paced.

She reached out to grab his arm, but fell short and glanced off the sharpened edge of his shield instead. Ebrisa hissed softly as the metal sliced a shallow groove into her palm, but the reserved sound was loud enough to catch Cullen's attention. He took hold of her cradled hand to inspect the injury, frowning at the blood and quickly tugging the handkerchief from his sash to wrap it up.

“Oh, no, Cullen,” Ebrisa protested meekly. “It'll stain.”

“This is my responsibility,” he answered, lifting her injured hand and holding it to his cheek. “Keeping you safe is my responsibility.” A sudden look of understanding passed over Ebrisa's face before she graced him with a warm smile and Cullen could practically see the tension slip from her shoulders. He turned his head and placed a light kiss against her palm, closing his eyes to concentrate on the action.

She giggled softly, a flush building on her cheeks. “That's unsanitary, you know.”

“Well if you weren't going to heal the wound, I thought I'd give it a try,” Cullen chuckled back.

Ebrisa reluctantly pulled her hand away and gathered a small bit of energy, healing the cut with a light brush of her other hand. She untied the cloth, clicking her tongue in disappointment as she recognized the embroidered gift she'd given him the year prior. “I'll try to have the blood out by the time you return.”

“Its no matter, I don't mind.” Cullen held out a hand to receive the handkerchief back, but Ebrisa hesitated, worrying lightly on her bottom lip. She slipped her free hand into her own sash and removed another square of edged cloth, placing it into Cullen's waiting hand. It was a finer fabric than his own and the stitching around the edge was far more elaborate and decidedly feminine. He raised a brow at the switch and Ebrisa rushed to explain herself.

“Well, you'll need one, won't you? Otherwise you wouldn't have brought your own.”

“I see,” he replied, tucking the replacement away. “And here I thought my lady had given me a favor to ensure I would return to her in one piece.”

She gasped softly, as though only just remembering nobility courting practices. “Yes, of course! By all means, Knight-Commander, do bring this back to me upon your mission's completion.” Ebrisa paused as she thought more on the subject, then tugged the cord from around her neck and slipped Cullen's coin over his head. “And here is further good luck for you to carry.”

“Have you no faith in my fighting skills?” He teased.

Ebrisa let her hands rest in the space between his gorget and pauldrons, smiling almost coyly up at him. “Well, you have been sitting behind a desk for quite a while. I worry you may have gotten rusty over these past couple of years, so if you would indulge me one final measure for good luck?”

Cullen rolled his eyes and pretended to be annoyed. “Oh, very well.”

She raised up on her toes and held onto Cullen's armor until she could press her lips against him. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her just a little higher and taking the strain of holding herself up away so that Ebrisa could relax and give her full attention to their kiss. He savored her taste, memorized the contours of her mouth, and vowed that this would not be their final embrace. They broke apart panting after what felt both like an eternity and a fraction of a second, and Cullen slowly lowered Ebrisa to the ground. He held her close, letting her body drag against his armored chest until she rested on her heels once again. A soft noise slipped past her lips that was too quiet to be deciphered, but definitely bore a needy undertone that Cullen wished he had time to explore further.

Cheeks flushed and eyes still hazy, Ebrisa looked up at Cullen one last time. “Please be careful,” she whispered. “Promise you won't do anything reckless.”

He flashed her a smile, running his knuckles down her cheek. “I will do my best.”

The woman dipped her chin a fraction, forming a mock pout and refraining from delivering her usual response. “Promise you won't do anything _too_ reckless.”

Cullen chuckled softly before planting a small kiss to her temple. “I promise to not test all this luck, besides the fact that you've given me some very good incentive to return whole.”

They said their goodbyes and Cullen walked into the entry yard alone, feeling Ebrisa's eyes on his back and restraining himself from turning around to look at her. He called the men to attention and with a simple command they were underway, the knight-commander and the first enchanter separating for the first time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


 


	25. Opinions

_First Enchanter Ebrisa -_

_I sincerely hope that Lynden's information proved satisfactory and do once again apologize for the late repose to your queries. As you well know, the amount of missives and reports that graces the desk of a first enchanter can be staggering and things do tend to become lost from time to time. But this letter is not intended for complaining about paperwork._

_I am certain that you – like the rest of our peers – have received both the sending crystal message and the invitation to the emergency conclave to discuss it. Hasmal has been blessed with kind, tolerant templars and faithful mages, but such is not the case in every Circle. If half the things I've heard about Kirkwall are correct, it certainly has not been the case for yours – recent years excluded, of course. Indeed, Divine Justinia has done us all a great service in calling attention to your cooperation and relationship with Kirkwall's knight-commander. I do not mean to lessen the Divine's words by paraphrasing, but if mages and templars can get along in Kirkwall, then we should be able to do it anywhere._

_That brings me to the main point of my letter: you simply must attend the conclave. All of Thedas has learned of you and yet many deny you truly exist. They see your mention in the Divine's statement as either allegory for cooperation or a bold-faced lie to try and bridge the two sides. It is, of course, impossible for both you and your knight-commander to come to Val Royeaux, but even your single presence would go a long way towards confirming all Her Holiness has said._

_You are a credit to the Loyalists and your voice will surely carry much weight with our peers. You must attend and let them hear you, as I'm certain you have many important and wise things to say._

_I look forward to meeting you in person._

_-First Enchanter Woodrow of Hasmal_  
  
Ebrisa sighed heavily and rolled the parchment up, leaning back into her chair. She'd read the letter several times since receiving it the day prior and had come no closer to untangling the mess of emotions it riddled her with. Woodrow's words had meant to be encouraging, but they also made Ebrisa nervous. She had nothing wise or inspiring to say, no secret method she had used to earn templar cooperation, all she'd done was be herself and that was somehow enough to earn Cullen's confidence, his friendship, and eventually his heart. If she showed up at the conclave and simply told everyone to be kind and respectful, it wasn't likely to go over very well.

Loyalists would certainly be receptive to her, possibly even the Aequitarians, but she had a feeling they would see her humble answers as mere humility and press her for something further. The Libertarians would not believe her – she was certain – and what reason did they have to do so? If Woodrow's letter was to be believed and people doubted her existence, what would stop the other first enchanters from seeing her as nothing more than Chantry propaganda? For all they knew, she could be an actress that was coached on Circle politics and spoon-fed lines to say.

Anything Ebrisa had to say about the Tranquility cure could easily be ignored by at least half the gathering and the thought greatly annoyed her. Being involved with Cullen had nothing to do with her position in the Circle or her experience with the Tranquil, but it was likely the only thing the other first enchanters would see. It didn't matter that Ebrisa had spent more time with the branded than her peers had, it didn't matter that she worked closely with them every day, it didn't matter that she cared about each of her charges despite knowing they could not return the concern. All that mattered to the others was that Divine Justinia had singled her out as special.

She thumped the tube of parchment against her head absentmindedly, starring off at nothing as she tried to focus her thoughts.

“You know, that's not how most people read,” Carver began. “Maybe it's different for mages.”

Ebrisa jumped at his seemingly sudden appearance at her desk, straightening in her chair and stilling her hand. She'd taken to leaving her door open while Cullen was away and while some still knocked before entering, many took it was an invitation to just walk right in unannounced. Carver was one such templar and it normally wouldn't have been an issue, but with her focus elsewhere, Ebrisa was severely unprepared for company of any sort.

The enchanter set the letter down, using the action to buy a little more time so she could settle her rattled nerves. “Indeed its not, Ser Carver. What can I do for you?”

“Mail call,” he explained, holding out a rather official looking envelope. “Will this one get a head bonking as well?”

“Hopefully not,” Ebrisa mumbled as she took the missive, cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment. One look at the seal of the Circle of Magi on the back had her sighing once again before breaking the wax and giving the templar a halfhearted smile. “I fear it may after all.”

 

_To the First Enchanter of Kirkwall -_

_Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court. These distinguished appointments once made me rather famous in Orlais, but I'm afraid you've attracted their focus as of late. It is enough to be a Circle mage given consent by the Chantry – let alone the Divine – to pursue a relationship, but for it to be with a templar? A delicious scandal the courtiers have daintily devoured like the most delectable petit fours._

_It doesn't stop there, oh no. You are a curiosity, my dear, and the court loves nothing more than an intriguing mystery. Try as they might, the nobility can find no information about you save your being a woman. Your name is not widely known and it appears you never came before the Divine when appointed senior enchanter, which leads many to believe you skipped the position all together and wonder what qualifications you possess that give you the right to govern others. I do not consider myself amongst those small-minded individuals, as you have clearly been doing something right if Kirkwall's gradual turn around is any indication._

_By now I'm certain you are curious as to why I've taken the time to write you at all. As much as I would adore meeting you face-to-face and seeing just what type of woman can make even a steadfast knight-commander weak in the knees, I am afraid I must urge you to not leave Kirkwall at this time. Yes, the call has gone out for all first enchanters to gather and yes, it has been a year since mages have been allowed to congress on any matter, but you must not attend. While the topic for the conclave has been clearly defined, I do not doubt that Grand Enchanter Fiona will use the chance to push other matters – this is why_ _**I** _ _shall not be attending._

_For you, my dear, I'm afraid the situation is much more dire. As I said, there are those who question your qualifications, but there are also people – mages and templars alike – who question your loyalties and your intentions. I've heard some mages in my very own halls express jealousy at the gift you have been given, and as I'm certain you know, jealousy is a dangerous emotion that can make even the most civil individual do drastic things. You represent a change in the norm, a break from tradition, and a crack in the foundation of what the Chantry stands for._

_To put it bluntly, there are those who would see you dead._

_As I said before, I do not count myself amongst that crowd, which is why I have written to you in way of warning. No one knows what you look like, so being attacked on the road or in the capital is unlikely, but once you've arrived at the White Spire, you would be announced and there would be no where to hide and no devoted knight-commander to keep you safe from templars or mages. I can not forbid you from attending the conclave if you feel that is what you truly ought to do, but I felt it only sporting to give you an assessment of what the outside world thinks of your relationship._

_Do take my words into consideration, my dear, as I look forward to seeing how all of this unfolds._

_-First Enchanter Vivienne of Montsimmard_  
  
Ebrisa closed her eyes and tilted her head back until it thudded against the hard wood of her chair, forgetting she was not alone.

“That's a bit more than a bonk.”

She could no longer be bothered with embarrassment and leaned forward, picking up the first letter with her free hand. In her left she held an encouraging plea written on untreated parchment, and in her right she held a lofty warning framed in embossed filigree. Two first enchanters, two opinions, and too many factors at play for Ebrisa to figure anything out. It felt as though her head was getting cramped and she wished, not for the first time, that Cullen was home to help her.

“I think you've been cooped up in here too long,” Carver sighed, grabbing hold of the enchanter's arm and hoisting her up to her feet. “Come on then.”

Ebrisa fought against his grip. “I- I still have work that needs attending to.”

He nodded, but didn't let go. “True, but you haven't taken a single break since the knight-commander left and I think you've burned yourself out. Unless, you know, hitting your head is part of your thought process?”

She stopped resisting, but didn't follow his light tugs either. Staying busy had been the only thing keeping her mind off Cullen's self-appointed mission and her worry over why he hadn't returned yet. She had become so tense and focused on her work that the unsolicited advice from her peers made her more frazzled than they would have any other week.

“I _will_ carry you out of here, if I need to,” Carver warned, only a hint of jest in his voice. Needing very little further coaxing, Ebrisa followed the templar down the corridor and into the enclosed yard. She had been neglecting the gardening and braced herself for overgrown shrubs and weed strangled flowers, but to her surprise the yard looked just as pristine as it had when she was freshly harrowed. The idea that someone – or a group of someones – had taken it upon themselves to pick up the maintenance of the yard filled the enchanter with warmth and she smiled at the freshly turned earth, knowing the spring bulbs had already been planted within.

“I never asked anyone to tend to the yards,” she whispered, as much to herself as to the templar.

Carver shrugged as the woman walked around inspecting the space. “Guess they figured it out on their own, seeing as you've been too busy to do it yourself. Think I've seen Feynriel and Ana in here from time to time.”

The Tranquil had no desires of their own, but they could recognize them in others and at least a few of them had decided to step out of their normal duties to continue Ebrisa's silly little hobby. Maybe it was because it was a task they were used to seeing done that had been abandoned, but a large part of Ebrisa believed they had taken trowel in hand because they knew it would make her happy.

Thinking of the Tranquil brought the conclave back to mind and Ebrisa frowned at the letters still in her hands. “I don't know what to do.”

“People normally relax during breaks.” Carver motioned to one of the stone benches by the wall. “Try sitting.”

“No, I meant-”

“ _Sit._ ”

Ebrisa did as instructed with only a slight pout before continuing speaking. “I don't know what to do about this conclave. I owe the Tranquil much – they gave me a sense of purpose and direction after the annulment – and it seems the least I could do would be speak on their behalf concerning the cure. I was so intent on attending the gathering when the invitation first came in, but Cullen was so against it. Now I've these conflicting messages and he's not here to help me figure out what is truly best.” She set the letters on the bench beside herself, freeing her hands to rest her face in. “I just feel... overwhelmed. Lost.”

Carver remained silent and for a while Ebrisa thought he had left her in peace to work things out in the open air, but then she felt a finger press against her forehead and push her head back.

“Nope, definitely a real person.” Carver dropped the letters back onto the bench disinterestedly. “Guess you can't believe everything you read after all.”

She was initially upset that he'd invaded her privacy in reading her mail, but the feeling subsided as she realized a second perspective could help her align her own. “So, given everything you now know, what do you think?”

“You want _my_ opinion?” He scoffed at the idea.

“And why not? Yours could very well be the tie-breaker.”

He ruffled his hair, looking uneasy at the prospect. “Well, I mean, its not really my place.”

“I'm _asking_ for it to be your place, Ser Carver.” She met his wandering eyes and held his gaze. “Please?”

Carver muttered some type of indistinguishable curse under his breath before lifting his hands slightly in surrender. “Alright, fine, but only because you asked. As I see it, the other mages at the meeting will be too distracted by your relationship or validity to give a rat's ass about your views on Tranquility. If no one is going to take you seriously anyways, there's not really a point in tempting fate with possible assassins, now is there?”

She nodded slowly, agreeing with the assessment and wondering why she hadn't been able to come to that conclusion on her own. “I'd likely be too intimidated by the other first enchanters to say my piece, whether they'd listen to it or not.” Ebrisa planted her hands firmly on her knees and nodded again, more insistent this time. “I'll send a letter to Hasmal with my views and ask First Enchanter Woodrow to share it at the conclave, but I will remain in Kirkwall.”

“Thank goodness,” Carver sighed. “The knight-commander would surely kill me if I somehow convinced you to go to Orlais. I might've done myself in, to be honest.” The second part he mumbled, but not softly enough.

“Meaning what?”

Carver winced at being caught and silently berated himself for saying anything at all. “Meaning,” he began, trying to connect the words in his head into a proper sentence. “ _Meaning_ that your well-being is the concern of more than just the knight-commander.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Many sections of the library saw little to no use in recent years with the Tranquil sticking to their prior research and Ebrisa having her hands full with managing the Gallows. It was necessity, not boredom, that had her wandering around the shelves in search of reading material to keep herself occupied. It had been over a week and still Cullen had not returned, leaving Ebrisa's mind to draw up countless, dreadful scenarios that kept her awake at night. The only way she was able to find sleep was to throw herself into some historical or theoretical text until her eyes grew too heavy to keep going. Some nights she nodded off quickly and others she didn't find rest until the nightshift retired to their bunks down the corridor.

Ebrisa had already skimmed several books and decided on a few to read more thoroughly, but she would need to gather up a couple more. She did not often have time to go to the library and the vellum pages would need to last her until the next opportunity to go on a hunt.

Clutching her growing selection to her chest with one hand, she stretched the other up to a book with a rather tantalizing title when she felt a presence behind her. A strong pair of arms wrapped around her middle and lifted her a few inches from the ground, crushing her tightly against a very solid, armored torso. Her books clattered noisily to the floor, but all thoughts of reading went with them as she instantly identified her captor. The smell of dirt, blood, and sweat invaded her senses, but beneath it was the familiar scent of oak moss, sandalwood, and warm leather.

“Found you,” a husky voice rumbled in her ear.

Ebrisa squirmed as the hot breath tickled her skin, giggling out her response. “Cullen, put me down!”

“Fine,” the man grumbled, sounding very put out by the command. Cullen hunched over until Ebrisa's feet were in contact with the floor once again, but he did not stop his embrace or remove his head from its comfortable position against her cheek. “I've thought of little else but holding you for days,” he confessed, too tired from the mission and too happy to be home to be bashful.

She hummed in agreement, nuzzling him slightly and noticing something was... different. Instead of feeling his warm skin against her own, Cullen's face was almost prickly. It occurred to her that she had only ever seen him carefully shaven with groomed facial hair framing his mouth and that his time on the road likely hadn't given him the opportunity to keep up with such a style, letting stubble overtake his face. It was a curious sensation, but Ebrisa found she actually rather enjoyed the light rasp against her skin, not that she was confident enough to say something so embarrassing.

Ebrisa cleared her throat, pushing the thought away, and tried to focus on what Cullen's return meant. “I take it the mission was a success?” He exhaled deeply in reply, leaning just a little more on the woman in his arms. “I take it the mission wasn't a success,” she corrected.

“We found the men and women responsible for attacking the caravans. They refused to surrender and put up quite the fight, but nothing my templars and your wyvern couldn't handle.” Cullen smirked briefly. “Should I be offended that you felt the need to send Leopold? The beast has impeccable timing, by the way. He caught up with us just in time to leap into the fray. Literally.”

In truth, Ebrisa wasn't even certain if Leopold had fully understood her. She had waited a solid two days before confessing her worries to the wyvern and pleading with him to find and assist Cullen, but was unable to give him anything baring the templar's scent. Leopold nuzzled her back – an action Ebrisa was certain had been meant to comfort her – then sniffed her a few times and ran off. It was likely that the wyvern was able to catch Ebrisa's scent from the handkerchief she'd lent Cullen, but a much more embarrassing option said that the knight-commander's scent had been imprinted on her and that's that Leopold picked up.

“I won't apologize for sending backup,” Ebrisa mumbled, glad that Cullen was unable to see the flush of heat on her cheeks. She tilted her head to the side in thought, breaking contact. “But if you found and stopped the highwaymen, then why are you distressed?”

He pulled back and straightened to his full height, resting his hands lightly on her hips in an unconscious effort to not leave her alone. “Samson wasn't there. This group was a faction that had broken away from the rest of the defectors and since none of them survived, we couldn't question them about his whereabouts. Though our mission was completed, I ordered a continued search in hopes of finding some indication of the larger group. There was... nothing. Wherever Samson took the others, its not close by and that should be reassuring, but...” Cullen held back his anger, dispelling the building growl with a gruff exhale of breath. “I don't like the idea of him being out there.”

Ebrisa knew this was more than a matter of pride or a sense of duty. If any other person had persuaded a third of Kirkwall's templars to walk out, Cullen wouldn't have spent so much time trying to track them down. He had not deemed her trip to Orlais as unsafe because of a rogue group of templars, but because of Samson, because what Samson had done to her, not as a mage, but as a woman.

“Would it help if I told you I've decided against attending the conclave?” She could sense the tension leave the man behind her just as surely as his revealed sigh.

“Maker, _yes_.” Cullen moved around her to pick up the books he made her drop earlier. “I'm pleased to see you've returned to your senses, First Enchanter.”

Ebrisa muffled a soft giggle behind her hand. “It was brought to my attention that going to the White Spire could prove extremely dangerous.”

“That's what _I_ said,” Cullen grumbled.

“Yes, Knight-Commander, but you failed to explain why and merely repeated _it's unsafe_ in hopes that would convince me.” Ebrisa held out her hands to receive the gathered books. “Your skills of persuasion need a bit more work.”

He looked up at her from his kneeling position on the floor and smirked, intending to explain that he had several other methods of persuasion that he would be more than happy to demonstrate for her, but Ebrisa cut him off with a horrified scream.

Cullen dropped the small stack in surprise and darted his eyes around to quickly survey the library for any signs of trouble. “What? What happened?”

“That's what _I_ want to know!” Ebrisa dropped to her knees and gently cupped his face, staring at a rather painful looking slice of flesh.

“What?” Cullen furrowed his brow as he realized her scream had been aimed at him and not an intruder. “You mean my lip?”

“Of _course_ I mean your lip,” Ebrisa huffed, terror subsided and replaced with a slight irritation. “When did this happen?”

He squirmed under her firm gaze, feeling like a child who'd been caught doing something forbidden. “Well, we did find the bandits fairly quickly, so... perhaps five days?”

“ _Five?!_ ” Ebrisa didn't know whether to be worried or furious, so she suppressed both bubbling emotions and studied the injury with a clinical eye. There were a lot of blood vessels above the mouth and this had not been a grazing scrape but a deep, penetrating slice that must have been immensely painful and bled profusely. It was a small wonder Cullen hadn't lost any teeth from the blow.

The squad had not taken any Tranquil with them, but it appeared they had seen fit to bring some medical supplies. “Who patched you up?” Ebrisa asked, voice much gentler than it had been before.

“Marcell,” Cullen mumbled, still weary.

That made some sense. Marcell and a handful of other templars had taken a few of Ebrisa's classes to better their field medic skills and she was glad Cullen had the foresight to include him on the mission. A proper dose of healing tonic might have sealed the wound further, but Ebrisa knew Cullen would put the well-being of his men over himself and refuse to use more of their supply than necessary if it meant those under his command needed aid as well. The stitching was abysmal and the area was partially shaven to better treat the wound with salves and rinses that kept it from getting infected, despite the extra time Cullen spent out in the dirt chasing down a ghost.

“It's already healing,” Ebrisa sighed. “Even if I use my magic right now, it'll scar.”

“That's perfectly alright,” Cullen soothed, knowing how self-conscious the woman was about her own marred flesh. “I have plenty of them and one more isn't going to make a difference.”

She looked away shyly, worrying on her bottom lip. “There's only one thing I can do now to help.”

“Oh?” The templar raised a brow, intrigued.

Ebrisa, still cupping his cheeks, leaned in and pressed a soft, gentle kiss over the injury. She lingered for a moment before pulling away, skin a rosy tinge and eyes unable to meet his. “Better?”

He was unable to reply for a full minute as he tried to recover from the sweet and intimate gesture. On any other day, it wouldn't have hit him so hard, but after being away from Ebrisa for over a week and dreaming of her touch, it was only his wounded lip that stopped him from devouring her mouth. “Much,” he finally responded, skin tingling with a warmth that had nothing to do with healing magic, “ but that's unsanitary, you know.”

Ebrisa giggled, realizing they'd come full circle. “You're right. I'm certain you're absolutely filthy and we really ought to get you into a bath.”

“Its a _we_ , is it?” He smirked as she tensed. “You are, of course, welcome to join me.”

The enchanter choked on air as Cullen teased her. Part of her actually considered the idea – and not a small part, either – but if she was getting this frazzled by the mere thought of sharing a bath with the man, then she was likely to pass out and drown in the magically heated water should she actually agree. Cullen would be so terribly distraught if after spending all that time and effort trying to keep Ebrisa safe from an outside threat, he ended up killing her at home on accident.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ebrisa does what we all want to do to that lip scar.


	26. Complete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2000 hits right before the final chapter. seems like a pretty good milestone to me ^_^

The sun had not yet appeared on the horizon when Merrill arrived at the Gallows and lead Ebrisa down into the tunnels beneath. Today was the day the enchanter had been waiting for ever since being cursed by Quentin, but before she could receive the warding against blood magic, she needed to be purified. Merrill had already explained the traditions surrounding getting a vallaslin and while Ebrisa was not an elf coming of age or devoting herself to one of the Creators, she was about to receive a tattoo that utilized ink the Dalish regarded as sacred. Merrill had tried to save her people's history, but had ended up getting her clan destroyed instead and that had torn her apart. Her friend was all that was left of clan Sabrae, but she still held tightly to their rules and customs and Ebrisa didn't mind following along.

They stopped before a shallow, clear pool deep in the caverns edged with glowing algae and fed by a steady trickle of water from several meters above. “You must clear your mind of all doubts and fears. Your body must be calm and balanced.” Merrill turned from the pool to smile at the enchanter. “Normally, this would be to make your spirit open to the Creators, but its just as important for you. We will be introducing lyrium permanently into your body and if your mana or emotions fluctuate too much, its uncertain if the magic we are trying to use will work when the time comes.”

Ebrisa nodded and made a step towards the pool, but Merrill caught her arm.

“Oh, da'len, there is one thing I forgot to mention.” The elf smiled uneasily. “Your body, to be purified, you'll need to... uh... disrobe.” Merrill quickly lifted her hands and shook her head. “Don't worry, I won't look! Leopold and I will keep watch just out there to give you privacy, alright?”

“I understand.”

Merrill disappeared down the winding path between solid walls of rock and Ebrisa waited until she could no longer hear footsteps before removing her clothing. She wasn't wearing much to begin with, as she knew water was involved and didn't want to ruin her uniform, and before long she was standing naked in the dimly lit space. The enchanter took a steadying breath before stepping carefully into the cold pool and made her way to the miniature waterfall, pushing ripples across the surface.

She settled down beneath the flowing water as instructed and closed her eyes against the stream. The water coming in wasn't salty and Ebrisa spared a moment to wonder where it was coming from, if not the harbor, but only a moment. Over the years, she hadn't improved at all on Force Mage spells, but she had kept up with other telekinetic magic and that training gave her the focus she needed to shut out the world and retreat inside her own mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Blue sky without clouds. Sea stretching into the distance. Warm sand for miles.

Calm. Peaceful.

Ebrisa stood on the beach staring off into the horizon, letting the water drift around her ankles and pull her thoughts away. She tried to clear her mind, tried to let her fears and doubts go, but there was something that wouldn't leave her and it clung desperately to her consciousness like the foam gathering on her calves.

“Sweetling?”

Ebrisa jumped at the sudden voice, spinning around to meet Mother – no, _Renata_ – face to face. “Auntie, what are you doing here?”

The spirit inclined her head slightly, confused. “What do you mean?”

The enchanter exhaled slowly to calm her racing heart, then turned to once again face the glittering line where the sky met the sea. “I need to get ready for the procedure and can't have any distractions.”

“Yes, you did mention something about this.” Renata lifted a hand in a dismissive wave. “Fear not. You'll hardly know I'm here.” The spirit walked further up the beach, trying to keep her word, but ultimately turned back around. “What is it about this procedure that you need to prepare mentally for? I thought it was a simple tattoo.”

Ebrisa had not wanted to worry the spirit with the inherit dangers of implanting lyrium under her skin, so she hadn't really gone into any details.

“Gracious, is it going to be painful?” A hand flew to Renata's cheek as she gasped in concern. When no answer came, she continued. “It will, won't it? What sort of monstrous tools are they going to use?”

“Just... traditional Dalish ones,” Ebrisa mumbled, hesitant to reveal too much. “It will hurt, yes, but it will be worth it.”

Renata scoffed at the reply, folding her arms. “And what does your templar think of letting a Dalish mage defile a good, Andrastian girl like yourself?”

“I'm not being defiled or swayed by Dalish beliefs or traditions, Auntie,” the enchanter said slowly, trying to understand her visitor's odd behavior. “And Cullen understands what's going on. Once I have the ward in place, I'll be safe from blood magic. There won't be that eerie worry in the back of my mind that any moment I could lose control of myself and be at the mercy of a maleficar.”

“You fear the control of blood mages, so you let a blood mage mar your flesh? If your templar truly cared for your well-being, he would never agree to this.”

Ebrisa moved away from the water, grains of sand sticking to her wet skin as she marched to the spirit. “Cullen does care, Auntie, he loves me.”

“He does not!” Renata fumed, stomping a foot hard enough to send a spray of sand into the air. “If he did, he would never permit a maleficar, Dalish witch to touch you, never mind carving symbols into your back where you can't even check her work.”

That gave Ebrisa pause. She hadn't once mentioned that Merrill would need to cut her skin or where the tattoo would be located. Had she ever even told Renata that the elf practiced blood magic?

“He doesn't love you, sweetling. He can't protect you.” The spirit reached out her hands towards Ebrisa's face, expression gentle. “But I do and I can. I'll never permit anyone to harm you.”

They had discussed Renata's previous actions in the waking world at great length and though it had taken time, Ebrisa thought the spirit finally understood that what she had done was wrong. There were rules and boundaries that Renata had agreed to respect, but her words now seemed to undermine all that.

The spirit was acting so strangely and Ebrisa knew she couldn't control her, should Renata decide to act out during the procedure just because Ebrisa was in pain, and there was no telling what would happen. It didn't make any sense that her aunt would revert back to this unhinged behavior and Ebrisa tried to swallow the rising fear. Fear?

“This isn't the Fade, this is my mind,” Ebrisa began slowly, remembering what she had been doing before being interrupted.

She was trying to clear her thoughts, trying to rid herself of fears and doubts, and here was her aunt. Her aunt, who she couldn't fully trust to not overreact. Her aunt, who'd scared her as much as the things she defended her from. Her aunt, who had no real way of being in Ebrisa's mind.

Renata smiled, appearing just the faintest bit confused. “We are connected, dear one, you know this. I will always be at your side to keep you safe.”

It wasn't a matter of connection or will, but consent. Unless given explicit permission, a spirit could not manifest inside a conscious mind. At least, not one with Renata's level of power or skill.

“You're... not really here,” the enchanter mumbled. “You're just a lingering series of fears and doubts weighing on my thoughts.” Ebrisa closed her eyes, trying to reconcile the things her vision had said.

Renata understood the rules and vowed to follow them. Merrill was a trusted friend who only wanted to help. Nothing about the procedure was an affront to the Chantry and her beliefs were not being jeopardized by Dalish tradition. Cullen loved her, and while he might not be able to protect Ebrisa from every harm in the world, she knew he would do everything in his power to try.

In the meditation encouraged by Dalish beliefs, Ebrisa solidified her faith in her family, friends, and love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
“Oh, yes, that's very helpful,” Merrill hummed in approval, eying the charcoal design on Ebrisa's back. “Keepers don't usually need patterns to follow, but this isn't really a vallaslin and I'm not really a keeper... so...” She trailed off, unnerved as Maddox just looked at her with the same bored expression he had when she and Ebrisa entered the crafting room.

“It would be more precise if I were to perform both aspects of the tattooing process,” Maddox reminded once again. “You do not have the required skills in rune crafting.”

“No, but I know my way around a blade and magic circles, thank you very much,” she responded, almost in a huff. “As I explained, I _must_ be a part of this. Now do be a dear and just tell me which areas to do when.”

While the elf and the Tranquil had some mild form of an argument going on behind her, Ebrisa clutched to the towel covering her front torso nervously. It made the most sense to place the ward close to her heart and short of displaying the tattoo prominently on her chest, the best she could do was high on her back between the shoulder blades. Merrill agreed with the location and neither woman gave it a second thought until it came time to actually do it. There was no perceived problem until Maddox pointed out that Ebrisa's breast band was pulling on her skin and would have to be removed to prevent warping the glyph. Now here she was, the first enchanter of Kirkwall, sitting on a stool with her robes around her waist, trying to hold on to some degree of modesty with the still damp towel she'd used after _purifying_ pressed to her chest as her friend and her charge spoke about her back like it was a rune stone.

“Are we all set?” Merrill looked over the supplies on the table behind them, mentally checking each item off as she pointed to it.

“Everything is in order,” Maddox said with a nod.

“Well then,” the elf picked up the halla bone knife, holding it reverently between her slender fingers. “Let's begin.” She brought the sharpened edge close to her target, resting her other hand beneath the pattern to keep the flesh from moving too much. Ebrisa flinched away from her touch, body tensing, and the elf sighed sympathetically. “Now, da'len, you mustn't do that. This is going to hurt, but you can't give in to that pain or the fear of it. You need to keep the calm you found during meditation.”

“Right...” the enchanter whispered, calling up the points she'd made earlier that morning.

_Renata wouldn't act out, Merrill was trustworthy, this wasn't wicked, and Cullen loved her._

_Renata wouldn't act out, Merrill was trustworthy, this wasn't wicked, and Cullen loved her._

_Renata wouldn't act out, Merrill was trustworthy, this wasn't wicked, and Cullen-_

The door opened and all three occupants of the room turned towards the intrusion, Merrill jumping to shield Ebrisa further from view with her own, tiny body. Cullen seemed out of breath, but relieved, and closed the door behind himself as he walked in fully. “You haven't started yet, thank the Maker. I was afraid I'd be too late.”

Merrill grinned at the templar and motioned to a chair he could grab before moving to her previous position behind the enchanter. “We were just about to, so I suggest you settle quickly.”

Cullen did just that, dragging the indicated chair across the floor before dropping down into it right in front of Ebrisa. She stared at him as he took a moment to catch his breath, clutching the towel even tighter. “Cullen, what are you doing here?”

“From what I understand, this is going to hurt. A lot.” He smiled warmly at her and place a hand on her knee, never breaking contact with her eyes. “I can't stop you from getting hurt, but I won't let you go through it alone. I'm here to offer whatever sort of comfort I can.”

_Renata wouldn't act out._

“Oh, that's so... sweet.” Ebrisa placed one hand on top of his, returning his smile. “Thank you.”

_Merrill was trustworthy._

“Here we go, da'len,” Merrill warned, bringing the blade into position once again. “Deep breaths now, and no screaming. We need to keep everything under control.”

_This wasn't wicked._

The first bite of the knife was deeper than she expected and Ebrisa squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. Her hand on Cullen's gripped it tightly and once Merrill stopped cutting the first section and gave the enchanter a little reprieve, Cullen adjusted the hold to thread their fingers together.

_Cullen loved her._

Almost as soon as Merrill stepped away, Maddox came in with the ink and began tapping the pronged chisel in the newly carved grooves. The lyrium burned like acid as it came in contact with Ebrisa's opened flesh, the pain far worse than she expected, and she couldn't restrain her gasping sob of anguish. Her other hand groped around blindly for Cullen, letting the towel drop and forgetting about it entirely.

_Cullen loved her._

“It's alright, I'm right here,” he soothed as he caught her frantic hand and let her squeeze out the pain. Cullen pressed his forehead to hers, slowly guiding Ebrisa through deep breaths and keeping her attention on him. The peace and calm he provided with soft, whispered words filled her with such warmth that she could almost forget the agony throbbing along her back. “I'm with you, Ebrisa, and I'm not going anywhere. Ever.” 

 _Cullen loved her..._  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Following the Revolt at the White Spire – an event Cullen was eternally grateful Ebrisa had missed out on – the formerly imprisoned First Enchanters voted to break away from the Chantry and abolish Circles all together. Lord Seeker Lambert discovered the Divine's hand in the escape and declared the act in clear violation of the Nevarran Accord, nullifying the agreement and separating not only the Seekers of Truth but also the Templar Order from the Chantry as well. This brought about chaos all across Thedas with perfectly peaceful Circles being annulled, mages falling to dark magic to protect themselves against pursuers, and templars not hesitating to attack anyone they suspected of being an apostate.

War had officially broken out, and not just between mages and templars, but in Orlais as well. Grand Duke Gaspard had the loyalty of the chevaliers, but Empress Celene had the support of the people and neither side was willing to back down until civil war tore the entire country apart. There was little that could be done to temper nobility fighting for the throne, but perhaps the other war could still be reigned in before too many lives were lost.

 

Cullen stepped out onto the roof curiously, having spent very little time there despite all his years living in the Gallows, and looked around the massive herb garden for his target. He found Ebrisa tending to her personal section of the grounds and was content to simply stand nearby and watch her for a bit. She had been up there for a while and though the wind was not terribly bad at present, it had managed to pull at her braids and tug several wisps of hair free that now floated lazily around her. The smock kept her robes clean, but dirt was wedged beneath her nails and smudged across her cheek in a manner Cullen found endearing but knew Ebrisa would be embarrassed by.

As though feeling his eyes on her, the enchanter looked up at Cullen and smiled, wiping the building sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and adding yet another smear of dirt to her face. The man smiled back, unable to stop the cascade of thoughts in his mind. Ebrisa looked so at ease when tending to the flowers or herbs that it was no stretch of the imagination to think she'd look exactly the same working a vegetable garden, or even a proper field.

Ebrisa would do well on a farm, he was certain of it, and she would get along well with his family. He could see it plainly – Mia showing Ebrisa how to handle the larger tools, Branson explaining that price haggling in the market wasn't being rude, and Rosalie warning against overfeeding the animals. He wondered how excited she would get about the first harvest or how hard she'd beat up herself if a new crop didn't come in right. He thought about the life he left behind and how easily Ebrisa would fit into it. He thought about the glow the sun would give her skin, about the way she'd welcome him home after an exhausting day's work, and about how absolutely breathtaking she would be with a swell in her belly.

“Cullen?”

He snapped back to reality, finding that the woman was now standing and wiping her hands on her smock. A flush crept over his cheeks for the nature of his day dream and he blamed the conversation he'd just had in his office. The Nevarran had brazenly called him and Ebrisa the _father and mother of the Gallows_ and that had been all the encouragement his imagination had needed.

“You looked a million miles away,” Ebrisa giggled softly.

It hadn't been distance, but time that stole Cullen's attention and he shook his head to try and bring it fully into the present again. “Yes, sorry. I was in a meeting with Seeker Pentaghast and she... had a lot to say.”

“A seeker,” Ebrisa mumbled quietly, recalling Cullen's previous reaction to the organization. “Is everything alright?”

He rubbed at his neck nervously, looking around for somewhere to sit. Ebrisa seemed to understand his intention and patted the ledge surrounding a patch of embrium before sitting on it herself. Cullen followed her down, being low enough to the ground that his knees bent above his waist. He glanced to Ebrisa, seeing her stretch out her legs in front of herself and followed suite, finding the position much more comfortable, especially in his armor. “This seeker is actually the Right Hand of the Divine and came to Kirkwall at her behest.”

“Oh,” Ebrisa whispered, clearly not having expected that. “And what was her mission?”

Cullen chuckled awkwardly. “Mostly it has to do with Hawke. You would think that after she ran off in the dead of night she'd _stop_ causing trouble, but that woman has her ways.”

She hummed in agreement. “Sometimes I can scarcely believe she and Ser Carver are related.”

“Yes, well, the other reason Seeker Pentaghast came here was... you see...” Cullen hesitated, trying to figure out the best way to broach the subject. “Divine Justinia has decided to call a conclave to broker peace between mages and templars. It's still in the planning stages now, but there will be forces there under the Chantry's direction to keep things in check and they don't have anyone to lead them yet.”

“So,” Ebrisa began slowly, filling in the blanks, “they need an experienced commander.”

“They do,” Cullen confirmed. “I've been offered the position.”

“You're going to take it.”

“I am.” He took a quiet breath, collecting his resolve. “I will be resigning and leave Barclay in charge. Once Seeker Pentaghast has concluded her business here, I will go with her.”

“Oh...” the woman whispered, voice cracking on the tiny word, and turned her face away before the tears she felt building behind her eyes had a chance to escape.

Cullen placed a hand over her own where it was balled up in the dirt covered smock. “Come with me.” He had meant to frame it as a question, but there was no sense of pleading in his voice and the almost command had Ebrisa whipping around to stare at him.

“What?”

“I mean – that is – would you...?” He sighed heavily, pulling his hand away to run it through his hair. “I know that you were rather adamant about staying a Circle mage, but there _are_ no more Circles. What we have here isn't official in any capacity and you've trained the Tranquil well enough to carry on without you – not that you aren't needed!” Cullen sighed again, this time in irritation at himself. “Its just that, I feel that I can do so much more under the Divine and I can't move forward if I stay in Kirkwall.” He planted his hands firmly on the ledge, staring off at the patch of herbs Ebrisa had been working just a little while ago and remembering all the things he'd imagined. “Frankly, I can't picture a life without you...”

Ebrisa wrapped her arms around his own and laid her head against his rounded pauldron, looking up at him lovingly. “And you'll never have to.”

Happiness and relief washed over the man as he smiled meekly at his love. “Good.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! Look at that happy ending! Savor the feels!  
> So this leads us right into Inquisition, which I will be writing.  
> I really want to do it well, so I'm taking extra time to plot it out and work on it before I start publishing. This means it will be a bit of time before we get back to our dumb, blonde babies! Noooo!
> 
> In the mean time, to both prove to myself I CAN write other characters and as a mental break so I don't burn myself out, I am working on a crossover fic for Inquisition that combines my two great loves - Dragon Age and Sailor Moon.  
> I know, "What the frig?", right? Its a silly premise on the surface, but I just wanted to have some fun.  
> Here the first chapter:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/11819286/chapters/26668101
> 
> And here's some art! Cullen and Ebrisa getting all steamy~  
> [(if you go to my tumblr, I have another version posted too)](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/tokutenshi)  
>   
> 


End file.
